He never spoke a word to me,
And yet He called my name;
He never gave a sign to me,
And yet I knew and came.
...
Some are teethed on a silver spoon,
With the stars strung for a rattle;
I cut my teeth as the black racoon--
For implements of battle.
...
She even thinks that up in heaven
Her class lies late and snores
While poor black cherubs rise at seven
...
I doubt not God is good, well-meaning, kind
And did He stoop to quibble could tell why
The little buried mole continues blind,
Why flesh that mirrors Him must some day die,
...
The many sow, but only the chosen reap;
Happy the wretched host if Day be brief,
...
That bright chimeric beast
Conceived yet never born,
Save in the poet's breast,
The white-flanked unicorn,
...
This is not water running here,
These thick rebellious streams
That hurtle flesh and bone past fear
Down alleyways of dreams
...
I have a rendezvous with Life,
In days I hope will come,
Ere youth has sped, and strength of mind,
Ere voices sweet grow dumb.
...
I cannot hold my peace, John Keats;
There never was a spring like this;
It is an echo, that repeats
...