The red Sahara in an angry glow, / With amber fogs, across its hollows trailed / Long strings of camels, gloomy-eyed and slow.
There's no dew left on the daisies and clover; there's no rain left in heaven.
It is a comely fashion to be glad; Joy is the grace we say to God.
It is not reason which makes faith hard, but life.
I am athirst for God, the living God.
How gently rock yon poplars high Against the reach of primrose sky With heaven's pale candles stored.