Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills. Like footsteps upon wool.

I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time.

Jewels five-words-long, That on the stretch'd forefinger of all Time Sparkle forever.

He that shuts love out, in turn shall be Shut out from love, and on her threshold lie, Howling in outer darkness.

Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of: Wherefore, let they voice, Rise like a fountain for me night and day.

Through the ages one increasing purpose runs.

But while I breathe Heaven's air and Heaven looks down on me, And smiles at my best meanings, I remain Mistress of mine own self and mine own soul.