There Is No Man Can Take, There

I Smiled, I Waited, I Was Circumspect; O Never, Never, Never Write That I Missed Life Or Loving.

The Stallion And His Mare, Unbridled, With Arrow-pattern, Are Worked On. The Blue Cloth Before The Door Of Religion And Inspiration.

Take What The Old-church Found In Mithra's Tomb, Candle And Script And Bell, Take What The New-church Spat Upon And Broke And Shattered.

Ardent Yet Chill And Formal, How I Ache To Tempt A Chisel As A Sculptor.

O Do Not Weep, She Says, For Ages Past I Was And I Endure