I Cannot Be Content With Less Than

Prayer Is The Spirit Speaking Truth To Truth.

For As Nightingales Do Upon Glow-worms Feed, So Poets Live Upon The Living Light.

See The Gold Sunshine Patching, And Streaming And Streaking Across The Gray-green Oaks; And Catching, By Its Soft Brown Beard, The Moss.

All Things That Speak Of Heaven Speak Of Peace.

And These Are Joys, Like Beauty, But Skin Deep.