I Have Lived Life Long Enough To

The Moon Is Bleached As White As Wool, And Just Dropping Under; Every Star Is Gone But Three, And They Hang Far Asunder,-- There's A Sea-ghost All In Gray, A Tall Shape Of Wonder!

It Is A Comely Fashion To Be Glad; Joy Is The Grace We Say To God.

O Sleep! O Sleep! Do Not Forget Me. Sometimes Come And Sweep, Now I Have Nothing Left, Thy Healing Hand Over The Lids That Crave Thy Visits Bland, Thou Kind, Thou Comforting One. For I Have Seen His Face, As I Desired, And All My Story Is Done. O, I Am Tired.

Man Is The Miracle In Nature. God Is The One Miracle To Man.

O Woman! Thou Wert Fashioned To Beguile: So Have All Sages Said, All Poets Sung.