The Twilight That Surrounds The Border-land Of

O Little Feet! That Such Long Years Must Wander On Through Hopes And Fears, Must Ache And Bleed Beneath Your Load; I, Nearer To The Wayside Inn Where Toil Shall Cease And Rest Begin, Am Weary, Thinking Of Your Road!

Through Woods And Mountain Passes The Winds, Like Anthems, Roll.

Shepherds At The Grange, Where The Babe Was Born, Sang With Many A Change, Christmas Carols Until Morn.

In The Elder Days Of Art Builders Wrought With Greatest Care Each Minute And Unseen Part, For The Gods Are Everywhere

How Can I Tell The Signals And The Signs By Which One Heart Another Heart Divines? How Can I Tell The Many Thousand Ways By Which It Keeps The Secret It Betrays?