I work to drive the awe away, yet awe impels the work.

I cannot live with you, It would be life, And life is over there Behind the shelf

I have an appetite for silence.

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!

Sweet Skepticism of the Heart That knows and does not know And tosses like a Fleet of Balm Affronted by the snow.

My best Acquaintances are those With Whom I spoke no Word

If Aims impel these Astral Ones The ones allowed to know Know that which makes them as forgot As Dawn forgets them now