The Spreading Wide My Narrow Hands /

Exultation Is The Going Of An Inland Soul To Sea Past The Houses, Past The Headlands Into Deep Eternity! Bred As We, Among The Mountains Can The Sailor Understand The Divine Intoxication Of The First League Out From Land?

To See The Summer Sky Is Poetry, Though Never In A Book It Lie— True Poems Flee—

The Power To Console Is Not Within Corporeal Reach - Though Its Attempt Is Precious.

To Live Is So Startling It Leaves Little Time For Anything Else.

Belshazzar Had A Letter,-- He Never Had But One; Belshazzar's Correspondence Concluded And Begun In That Immortal Copy The Conscience Of Us All Can Read Without Its Glasses On Revelation's Wall.