A Word that Breathes Distinctly Has not the Power to Die

Knew I how to pray, to intercede for your [broken] Foot were intuitive - but I am but a Pagan.

Action is redemption.

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

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.

Memory is a strange Bell—Jubilee, and Knell.

I had been hungry all the years- My noon had come, to dine- I, trembling, drew the table near And touched the curious wine. 'Twas this on tables I had seen When turning, hungry, lone, I looked in windows, for the wealth I could not hope to own. I did not know the ample bread, 'Twas so unlike the crumb The birds and I had often shared In Nature's diningroom. The plenty hurt me, 'twas so new,-- Myself felt ill and odd, As berry of a mountain bush Transplanted to the road. Nor was I hungry; so I found That hunger was a way Of persons outside windows, The entering takes away.