Life's Sharpest Rapture Is Surcease

The Soul, At Peace, Reflects The Peace Without, Forgetting Grief As Sunset Skies Forget The Morning's Transient Shower.

Thick February Mists Cling Heavily To The Dead Earth And To Each Leafless Tree, And Closer Down Upon The Hilltops Draw, Dull Forecasts There Of Bright, Sure-coming Spring; Yet The Heart Gathers Hope And Strange Delight From This Dear, Unlovely, Wished-for Sight Of Leaden-misted Twilights Lengthening.

My Own Curiosity And Interest Are Insatiable.

There Is No Comfort Looking Forth Nor Back, The Present Gives The Lie To All Her Past.

Kindle The Taper Like The Steadfast Star Ablaze On Evening's Forehead O'er The Earth, And Add Each Night A Lustre Till Afar An Eightfold Splendor Shine Above Thy Hearth.