My Chest Of Books Divide

Load Every Rift With Ore.

The Creature Has A Purpose, And His Eyes Are Bright With It.

Then Felt I Like Some Watcher Of The Skies When A New Planet Swims Into His Ken.

Bright Star, Would I Were Steadfast As Thou Art-- Not In Lone Splendour Hung Aloft The Night And Watching, With Eternal Lids Apart, Like Nature's Patient, Sleepless Eremite.

Where Soil Is, Men Grow, Whether To Weeds Or Flowers.