To see the Summer Sky
Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie --
True Poems flee --

Prayer is the little implement
Through which men reach
Where presence - is denied them.

To multiply the harbors does not reduce the sea.

No Life can pompless pass away --
The lowliest career
To the same Pageant wends its way
As that exalted here --.

Let us go in; the fog is rising.