We Meet No Stranger, But Ourself.

Twin Loaves Of Bread Have Just Been Born Into The World Under My Auspices. Fine Children, The Image Of Their Mother. And Here, My Dear Friend, Is The Glory.

Because I Could Not Stop For Death, He Kindly Stopped For Me; The Carriage Held But Just Ourselves And Immortality. We Slowly Drove, He Knew No Haste, And I Had Put Away My Labour, And My Leisure Too, For His Civility. We Passed The School Where Children Played, Their Lessons Scarcely Done; We Passed The Fields Of Gazing Grain, We Passed The Setting Sun. We Paused Before A House That Seemed A Swelling Of The Ground; The Roof Was Scarcely Visible, The Cornice But A Mound. Since Then 'tis Centuries; But Each Feels Shorter Than The Day I First Surmised The Horses' Heads Were Toward Eternity.

Knew I How To Pray, To Intercede For Your [broken] Foot Were Intuitive - But I Am But A Pagan.

The Sun Proceeds Unmoved To Measure Off Another Day For An Approving God.

The Soul Should Always Stand Ajar.