We never know how high we are till we are called to rise. Then if we are true to form our statures touch the skies.

Inebriate of air am I, And debauchee of dew, Reeling, through endless summer days, From inns of molten blue.

The soul selects her own society, Then shuts the door; On her divine majority Obtrude no more.

The brain is wider than the sky, For, put them side by side, The one the other will include With ease, and you beside.

Here is a little forest Whose leaf is ever green; Here is a brighter garden, Where not a frost has been; In its unfading flowers I hear the bright bee hum; Prithee, my brother, Into my garden come!

I'll tell you how the sun rose, a ribbon at a time. The steeples swam in amethyst, The news like squirrels ran. The hills untied their bonnets, The bobolinks begun. Then I said softly to myself, "That must have been the sun!

Beauty is just a light switch away...'click!' Beauty is not caused. It is.