The Lie Was Dead And

There Is An Inmost Center In Us All, Where Truth Abides In Fullness;....and, To Know, Rather Consists In Opening Out A Way Where The Imprisoned Splendor May Escape, Then In Effecting Entry For A Light Supposed To Be Without.

The Body Sprang At Once To The Height, And Stayed; But The Soul,-no!

To Me At Least Was Never Evening Yet, But Seemed Far Beautifuller Than Its Day.

Each Life Unfulfilled, You See; It Hangs Still, Patchy And Scrappy: We Have Not Sighed Deep, Laughed Free, Starved, Feasted, Despaired,—been Happy.

Women Hate A Debt As Men A Gift.