There is no expeditious road To pack and label men for God, And save them by the barrel-load. Some may perchance, with strange surprise, Have blundered into Paradise.

The devil doesn't know how to sing, only how to howl.

But lilies, stolen from grassy mold, No more curled state unfold, Translated to a vase of gold; In burning throne though they keep still Serenities unthawed and chill.

Thou cannot stir a flower Without troubling a star.

The innocent moon, that nothing does but shine,Moves all the labouring surges of the world.

Deep in my heart subsides the infrequent word, And there dies slowly throbbing like a wounded bird.

Oh invisible, we view thee, O world intangible, we touch thee, o world unknowable, we know thee.