Twere Too Absurd To Slight For The

Paracelsus At Times I Almost Dream I Too Have Spent A Life The Sages’ Way, And Tread Once More Familiar Paths. Perchance I Perished In An Arrogant Self-reliance Ages Ago; And In That Act A Prayer For One More Chance Went Up So Earnest, So Instinct With Better Light Let In By Death, That Life Was Blotted Out — Not So Completely But Scattered Wrecks Enough Of It Remain, Dim Memories, As Now, When Once More Seems The Goal In Sight Again.

All The Breath And The Bloom Of The Year In The Bag Of One Bee; All The Wonder And Wealth Of The Mine In The Heart Of One Gem; In The Core Of One Pearl All The Shade And The Shine Of The Sea; Breath And Bloom, Shade And Shine,- Wonder, Wealth, And-how Far Above Them- Truth, That's Brighter Than Gem, Truth, That's Purer Than Pearl,- Brightest Truth, Purest Trust In The Universe- All Were For Me In The Kiss Of One Girl.

I Know A Mount, The Gracious Sun Perceives First When He Visits, Last, Too, When He Leaves The World; And, Vainly Favored, It Repays The Day-long Glory Of His Steadfast Gaze By No Change Of Its Large Calm Front Of Snow.

'tis Well Averred, A Scientific Faith's Absurd.

Truth That Peeps Over The Glass's Edge When Dinner's Done.