I Came Like Water, And Like Wind

Drink! For You Know Not When You Came, Nor Why; Drink! For You Know Not Why You Go, Nor Where.

Myself When Young Did Eagerly Frequent Doctor And Saint, And Heard Great Argument About It And About: But Evermore Came Out By The Same Door As In I Went.

Awake, My Little Ones, And Fill The Cup Before Life's Liquor In Its Cup Be Dry.

This Body Is A Tent Which For A Space Does The Pure Soul With Kingly Presence Grace; When He Departs, Comes The Tent-pitcher, Death, Strikes It, And Moves To A New Halting-place.

Indeed The Idols I Have Loved So Long, Have Done My Credit In This World Much Wrong; Have Drowned My Glory In A Shallow Cup, And Sold My Reputation For A Song.