God's Gifts Put Man's Best Dreams To

Eve Is A Twofold Mystery.

Souls Are Gregarious In A Sense, But No Soul Touches Another, As A General Rule.

As The Moths Around A Taper, As The Bees Around A Rose, As The Gnats Around A Vapour, So The Spirits Group And Close Round About A Holy Childhood, As If Drinking Its Repose.

I Should Not Dare To Call My Soul My Own.

Large, Musing Eyes, Neither Joyous Nor Sorry.