Folded eyes see brighter colors than the open ever do.

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

If we tried To sink the past beneath our feet, be sure The future would not stand.

Experience, like a pale musician, holds a dulcimer of patience in his hand.

Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love. Yet love me--wilt thou? Open thine heart wide, And fold within, the wet wings of thy dove.

XI I sang his name instead of song; Over and over I sang his name: Backward and forward I sang it along, With my sweetest notes, it was still the same! I sang it low, that the slave-girls near Might never guess, from what they could hear, That all the song was a name.

I work with patience, which is almost power.