All The World Is Full Of Inscape

What I Do Is Me, For That I Came.

Not, I’ll Not, Carrion Comfort, Despair, Not Feast On Thee; Not Untwist—slack They May Be—these Last Strands Of Man In Me ór, Most Weary, Cry I Can No More. I Can; Can Something, Hope, Wish Day Come, Not Choose Not To Be.

All Things Therefore Are Charged With Love, Are Charged With God And If We Knew How To Touch Them Give Off Sparks And Take Fire, Yield Drops And Flow, Ring And Tell Of Him.

Do You Know, A Horrible Thing Has Happened To Me. I Have Begun To Doubt Tennyson.

All The World Is Full Of Inscape And Chance Left Free To Act Falls Into An Order As Well As Purpose.