Yes, I Answered You Last Night; No,

God Keeps A Niche In Heaven, To Hold Our Idols; And Albeit He Brake Them To Our Faces, And Denied That Our Close Kisses Should Impair Their White,-- I Know We Shall Behold Them Raised, Complete, The Dust Swept From Their Beauty, Glorified, New Memnons Singing In The Great God-light.

Children Use The Fist Until They Are Of Age To Use The Brain.

O Death, O Beyond, Thou Art Sweet, Thou Art Strange!

The Least Flower, With Brimming Cup, May Stand And Share Its Dew Drop With Another Near.

Every Age, Through Being Beheld Too Close, Is Ill-discerned By Those Who Have Not Lived Past It.