The Charm, One Might Say The Genius,

So Mothers Have God's License To Be Missed.

Large, Musing Eyes, Neither Joyous Nor Sorry.

What I Do And What I Dream Include Thee, As The Wine Must Taste Of Its Own Grapes.

A Great Acacia, With Its Slender Trunk And Overpoise Of Multitudinous Leaves. (in Which A Hundred Fields Might Spill Their Dew And Intense Verdure, Yet Find Room Enough) Stood Reconciling All The Place With Green.

New Angel Mine, Unhoped For In The World!