this is thy hour o soul, thy free flight into the wordless, away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done, thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best, night, sleep, death and the stars.

I dreamed in a dream, I saw a city invincible to the attacks of the whole of the rest of the earth; I dreamed that was the new City of Friends; Nothing was greater there than the quality of robust love—it led the rest; It was seen every hour in the actions of the men of that city, And in all their looks and words.

A man is a great thing upon the earth and through eternity; but every jot of the greatness of man is unfolded out of woman.

What is that you express in your eyes? It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life.

Human bodies are words, myriads of words, (In the best poems re-appears the body, man's or woman's, well-shaped, natural, gay, Every part able, active, receptive, without shame or the need of shame.)

Great is the faith of the flush of knowledge and of the investigation of the depths of qualities and things.

Shut not your doors to me proud libraries.