I saw, in gradual vision through my tears, The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years, Those of my own life, who by turns had flung A shadow across me.

Think, in mounting higher, the angels would press on us, and aspire to drop some golden orb of perfect song into our deep, dear silence.

Most illogical Irrational nature of our womanhood, That blushes one way, feels another way, And prays, perhaps another!

Love me sweet With all thou art Feeling, thinking, seeing; Love me in the Lightest part, Love me in full Being.

Earth's crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God: But only he who sees takes off his shoes.

Men get opinions as boys learn to spell by reiteration chiefly.

New angel mine, unhoped for in the world!