The red Sahara in an angry glow, / With amber fogs, across its hollows trailed / Long strings of camels, gloomy-eyed and slow.
You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven / That God has hidden your face?
How gently rock yon poplars high Against the reach of primrose sky With heaven's pale candles stored.
It is not reason which makes faith hard, but life.
It is a comely fashion to be glad; Joy is the grace we say to God.
The moon looks upon many night flowers; the night flowers see but one moon.