Think Not Because No Man Sees, Such

As Great Pythagoras Of Yore, Standing Beside The Blacksmith's Door, And Hearing The Hammers, As They Smote The Anvils With A Different Note, Stole From The Varying Tones, That Hung Vibrant On Every Iron Tongue, The Secret Of The Sounding Wire. And Formed The Seven-chorded Lyre.

So Nature Deals With Us, And Takes Away Our Playthings One By One, And By The Hand Leads Us To Rest.

All Things Are Symbols.

It Is The Heart And Not The Brain, That To The Highest Doth Attain.

I Heard The Trailing Garments Of The Night Sweep Through Her Marble Halls! I Saw Her Sable Skirts All Fringed With Light From The Celestial Walls! I Felt Her Presence, By Its Spell Of Might, Stoop O'er Me From Above; The Calm, Majestic Presence Of The Night, As Of The One I Love.