Longing, it may be, is the gift no other gift supplies.
God's unique capacity is too surprising to surprise.
Tis not that dieing hurts us so- tis living- hurts us more.
To see the Summer Sky Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie— True Poems flee—
Those who have not found the heaven below, will fail of it above.
Some keep the Sabbath going to church, I keep it staying at home, with a bobolink for a chorister, and an orchard for a dome.