Life Is The Finest Secret. So Long

His Labor Is A Chant - His Idleness -a Tune - Oh, For A Bee's Experience Of Clovers, And Of Noon!

The Steeples Swam In Amethyst, The News Like Squirrels Swam.

Till It Has Loved, No Man Or Woman Can Become Itself.

How Strange That Nature Does Not Knock, And Yet Does Not Intrude!

I Dwell In Possibility A Fairer House Than Prose More Numerous Of Windows Superior — For Doors.