A Woman's Always Younger Than A Man

Many A Fervid Man Writes Books As Cold And Flat As Graveyard Stones.

And I Smiled To Think God's Greatness Flowed Around Our Incompleteness; Round Our Restlessness, His Rest.

God Keeps A Niche In Heaven, To Hold Our Idols; And Albeit He Brake Them To Our Faces, And Denied That Our Close Kisses Should Impair Their White,-- I Know We Shall Behold Them Raised, Complete, The Dust Swept From Their Beauty, Glorified, New Memnons Singing In The Great God-light.

I, Who Thought To Sink, Was Caught Up Into Love, And Taught The Whole Of Life In A New Rhythm.

Eve Is A Twofold Mystery.