God Is The Perfect Poet, Who In

'tis An Awkward Thing To Play With Souls.

Are There Not, Dear Michael, Two Points In The Adventure Of The Diver,- One, When A Beggar He Prepares To Plunge; One, When A Prince He Rises With His Pearl? Festus, I Plunge.

Truth That Peeps Over The Glass's Edge When Dinner's Done.

What So Wild As Words Are?

For I Say This Is Death And The Sole Death,- When A Man's Loss Comes To Him From His Gain, Darkness From Light, From Knowledge Ignorance, And Lack Of Love From Love Made Manifest.