Surely The Stars Are Images

Dear Lord, Our God And Saviour! For Thy Gifts The World Were Poor In Thanks, Though Every Soul Were To Do Nought But Breathe Them, Every Blade Of Grass, And Every Atomie Of Earth To Utter It Like Dew.

Mind And Night Will Meet, Though In Silence, Like Forbidden Lovers.

I Have A Heart With Room For Every Joy .

Blest Is He Whose Heart Is The Home Of The Great Dead And Their Great Thoughts.

I Cannot Love As I Have Loved, And Yet I Know Not Why; It Is The One Great Woe Of Life To Feel All Feeling Die.