Large, Musing Eyes, Neither Joyous

I Heard An Angel Speak Last Night/and He Said, "write!"

My Future Will Not Copy My Fair Past, I Wrote That Once. And, Thinking At My Side My Ministering Life-angel Justified The Word By His Appealing Look Upcast To The White Throne Of God.

When We First Met And Loved, I Did Not Build Upon The Event With Marble. . . .

When The Dust Of Death Has Choked A Great Man's Voice, The Common Words He Said Turn Oracles, The Common Thoughts He Yoked Like Horses Draw Like Griffins.

With Stammering Lips And Insufficient Sound I Strive And Struggle To Deliver Right The Music Of My Nature.