Each morn I wake the leaves grow brighter still Unwilling to release their fragile hold And I unable or without the will To redesign this fated life, remould
This being divine yet lower than the clod, Half animal who burns with inner fire For roads unseen and avenues untrod To reach beyond the stars for something higher.
Where now the soft and silken folds of peace That lined the treasured coffers of my soul, Where now the spirit's song that would not cease That meeting Her I might surrender all,
Her hands of Grace that touch this humbled head, She in the dark-carved, high-backed rosewood chair And I kneeling now by wonder led To meditate with her in that golden air.
Poems Undated (1727)
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