If you want me again look for me under your boot soles.
I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God not in the least.
I see that I am to wait for what will be exhibited by death.
When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd / And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night, / I mourn'd, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.
Every hour of every day is an unspeakably perfect miracle.
I lean and loaf at my ease... observing a spear of summer grass.