Death Was Past, Life Not Come: So

At Last Awake From Life, That Insane Dream We Take For Waking Now.

God Is The Perfect Poet.

If Thou Tastest A Crust Of Bread, Thou Tastest All The Stars And All The Heavens.

Kiss Me As If You Made Believe You Were Not Sure This Eve, How My Face, Your Flower, Had Pursed It's Petals Up.

Finds Progress, Man's Distinctive Mark Alone, Not God's, And Not The Beast's; God Is, They Are, Man Partly Is, And Wholly Hopes To Be.