Deny our parents in our deeds to-day.
Let us awake—obedient to our dreams,
Let us embrace huge issues, comprehending
The scheme entire—Great Beauty’s birth, which seems
The glorious urge for life, unchecked, unending.
THE MONK IN HIS GARDEN
The air is heavy with a mist of spice,
Vervain and agrimony, clove and rue,
Have I not paid, have I not paid the price?