Not As She Is, But As She

The Lilies Say: Behold How We Preach Without Words Of Purity.

Lie Still, Lie Still, My Breaking Heart; My Silent Heart, Lie Still And Break: Life, And The World, And Mine Own Self, Are Changed For A Dream's Sake.

Oh That It Were With Me As With The Flower; Blooming On Its Own Tree For Butterfly And Bee Its Summer Morns: That I Might Bloom Mine Hour A Rose In Spite Of Thorns. Oh That My Work Were Done As Birds' That Soar Rejoicing In The Sun: That When My Time Is Run And Daylight Too, I So Might Rest Once More Cool With Refreshing Dew.

The Bourne Underneath The Growing Grass, Underneath The Living Flowers, Deeper Than The Sound Of Showers: There We Shall Not Count The Hours By The Shadows As They Pass. Youth And Health Will Be But Vain, Beauty Reckoned Of No Worth: There A Very Little Girth Can Hold Round What Once The Earth Seemed Too Narrow To Contain.

A Man Is Ever Apt To Contemplate Himself Out Of All Proportion To His Surroundings.