
Direct as dawning, chill / And glowing, I / Know you in mind; but distant still. / Help me to spy / Your omnipresence; here ...
He buried the coin alone, down in a field, / As mothers bury stillbirths; partly shamed, / He cursed and grumbled as he dug and kneeled / Because a part of him lay dead, unnamed ...
With the boredom of the longest of days / I find myself in your presence / With the final plight of these pleasurable experiences / I find myself in your presence
Mine’s not hallelujah / The song I’m asked to sing / For silence calls / In echoing halls / And bells refuse to ring / So if you hear the chorus / That rises in my heart
Is there anything more lovely than songbirds in sun-brushed boughs / Or soft beams that first awaken dreams and make the streams to run / Is there anything more beautiful than wildflowers on the hill / That pierce the steep with purples deep and violet in the sun / Yet what could be more joyous than nighttime ‘neath dazzling skies / As singsong flames and fireflies frame forests with their glow...
The green world gushes feeling, overflows meaning from a cup / And I, drinking deep, suffer yet that boundless desire / For the blood-red wine of the everlasting hills. / Who will drink it if not I? For swine know not their pearls; / Will the world, undrunk, wait full and wretched? / Or shall it, shucked of man, show empty?