That Is My Being, The

Lord, I Do Fear Thou'st Made The World Too Beautiful This Year My Soul Is All But Out Of Me-let Fall No Burning Leaf; Prithee, Let No Bird Call.

And Her Voice Is A String Of Colored Beads, Or Steps Leading Into The Sea.

God, I Can Push The Grass Apart And Lay My Finger On Thy Heart.

Man Has Never Been The Same Since God Died.

For The Body At Best Is A Bundle Of Aches, Longing For Rest; It Cries When It Wakes.