Tart, Cathartic Virtue.

Beauty Through My Senses Stole; I Yielded Myself To The Perfect Whole.

If You Would Lift Me Up You Must Be On Higher Ground.

If You Would Rule The World Quietly, You Must Keep It Amused.

How Silent, How Spacious, What Room For All, Yet Without Place To Insert An Atom--in Graceful Succession, In Equal Fullness, In Balanced Beauty, The Dance Of The Hours Goes Forward Still. Like An Odor Of Incense, Like A Strain Of Music, Like A Sleep, It Is Inexact And Boundless. It Will Not Be Dissected, Nor Unraveled, Nor Shown.

Live In The Fields, And God Will Give You Lectures On Natural Philosophy Every Day.