In the name of the bee And of the butterfly And of the breeze, amen!

I am one of the lingering bad ones, and so do I slink away, and pause, and ponder, and ponder, and pause, and do work without knowing why - not surely for this brief world, and more sure it is not for heaven - and I ask what this message of Christ means.

The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth,-- The sweeping up the heart, And putting love away We shall not want to use again Until eternity

Wonder is not precisely knowing.

To multiply the harbors does not reduce the sea.

To see the Summer Sky Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie— True Poems flee—

To die before one fears to die may be a boon.