My Sun Sets To Raise Again.

The Tyrant Should Take Heed To What He Doth, Since Every Victim-carrion Turns To Use, And Drives A Chariot, Like A God Made Wroth, Against Each Piled Injustice.

If Thou Must Love Me, Let It Be For Naught Except For Love's Sake Only.

Suddenly, As Rare Things Will, It Vanished.

There, That Is Our Secret: Go To Sleep! You Will Wake, And Remember, And Understand.

And I Smiled To Think God's Greatness Flowed Around Our Incompleteness; Round Our Restlessness, His Rest.