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.

The least flower, with brimming cup, may stand and share its dew drop with another near.

Our Euripides the human, With his droppings of warm tears, and his touchings of things common Till they rose to meet the spheres.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

True knowledge comes only through suffering.

The essence of all beauty, I call love.

My future will not copy my fair past, I wrote that once. And, thinking at my side my ministering life-angel justified the word by his appealing look upcast to the white throne of God.