Truth That Peeps Over The Glass's Edge

In The Morning Of The World, When Earth Was Nigher Heaven Than Now.

Only I Discern Infinite Passion, And The Pain Of Finite Hearts That Yearn.

I Want To Know A Butcher Paints, A Baker Rhymes For His Pursuit, Candlestick-maker Much Acquaints His Soul With Song, Or, Haply Mute, Blows Out His Brains Upon The Flute.

Praise Is Deeper Than The Lips

Since There My Past Life Lies, Why Alter It?