At least to pray is left - is left Oh Jesus - in the Air - I know not which thy chamber is - I'm knocking everywhere.

To lose what we have never owned might seem an eccentric bereavement, but Presumption has its own affliction as well as claim.

Faith—is the Pierless Bridge Supporting what We see Unto the Scene that We do not— Too slender for the eye It bears the Soul as bold As it were rocked in Steel With Arms of Steel at either side— It joins—behind the Veil To what, could We presume The Bridge would cease to be To Our far, vacillating Feet A first Necessity.

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!

A great hope fell You heard no noise The ruin was within.

I wonder if it hurts to live, And if they have to try, And whether, could they choose between, They would not rather die.

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