Warm is my place about me, and above,
Where was the raven, I behold the dove.
THEIR WAVING HANDS
SINCE I rose out of child-oblivion
I have walked in a world of many dreams,
And noble souls beside the shining streams
Of fancy have with beckonings led me on.
Their faces oft, mayhap, I could not see,
Only their waving hands and noble forms.