The Roaring Of The Wind Is My

I Want A Brighter Word Than Bright

A Man's Life Of Any Worth Is A Continual Allegory, And Very Few Eyes Can See The Mystery Of His Life, A Life Like The Scriptures, Figurative.

Nor Do We Merely Feel These Essences For One Short Hour No, Even As These Trees That Whisper Round A Temple Become Soon Dear As The Temples Self, So Does The Moon, The Passion Posey, Glories Infinite, Haunt Us Till They Become A Cheering Light Unto Our Souls And Bound To Us So Fast, That Wheather There Be Shine, Or Gloom O'er Cast, They Always Must Be With Us, Or We Die.

Was It A Vision Or A Waking Dream? Fled Is That Music--do I Wake Or Sleep?

I Am Certain Of Nothing But The Holiness Of The Heart's Affections, And The Truth Of Imagination.