I Am One Who Has Been Acquainted

Poets Are Like Baseball Pitchers. Both Have Their Moments. The Intervals Are The Tough Things.

O Hushed October Morning Mild, Thy Leaves Have Ripened To The Fall; Tomorrow's Wind, If It Be Wild, Should Waste Them All. The Crows Above The Forest Call; Tomorrow They May Form And Go. O Hushed October Morning Mild, Begin The Hours Of This Day Slow. Make The Day Seem To Us Less Brief. Hearts Not Averse To Being Beguiled, Beguile Us In The Way You Know. Release One Leaf At Break Of Day; At Noon Release Another Leaf; One From Our Trees, One Far Away.

Lord, I Have Loved Your Sky, Be It Said Against Or For Me, Have Loved It Clear And High, Or Low And Stormy...

It's God - I Recognised Him From Blake's Picture.

And Nothing To Look Backward To With Pride, And Nothing To Look Forward To With Hope.