I Say That We Are Wound With

What I Do Is Me, For That I Came.

Nothing Is So Beautiful As Spring- When Weeds, In Wheels, Shoot Long And Lovely And Lush; Thrush's Eggs Look Little Low Heavens, And Thrush Through The Echoing Timber Does So Rinse And Wring The Ear, It Strikes Like Lightnings To Hear Him Sing; The Glassy Peartree Leaves And Blooms, They Brush The Descending Blue; That Blue Is All In A Rush With Richness; The Racing Lambs Too Have Fair Their Fling. What Is All This Juice And All This Joy? A Strain Of The Earth's Sweet Being In The Beginning In Eden Garden.-have, Get, Before It Cloy.

Even With One Companion Ecstasy Is Almost Banished.

For Myself I Make No Secret, I Look Forward With Eager Desire To Seeing The Matchless Beauty Of Christ's Body In The Heavenly Light.

When I Compare Myself, My Being-myself, With Anything Else Whatever, All Things Alike, All In The Same Degree, Rebuff Me With Blank Unlikeness.