I the absurdity
Proving what cannot be.
Come, when you talk with me
Does it become you well
To doubt a miracle?
Along Her Book-shelf
Lay one hand on us; but keep the other free to touch far things which are not far—tenderly.
Where Boughs Touch the Glass
They lap on the indoor shore,
The waves of the leaf mere.
They say: We tell you as well as we can,
We wonder what you hear.
For Her Window
I see the stones, I see the stars,
I know not what I see.
Things always say words to themselves
And now and then to me.
But sometimes when I look between
Large stones and little stars
I almost know—but what I know
Flies through the window bars.
NON NOBIS
Find me little doors of air,
Let me in and in.
I will come and go all day....
None will miss me from my place
In the room, the porch, the lawn;
And yet I shall have a way
To enter and find quiet.
Knit me in a garment.
Weave me in a spell.
I shall look the same to them.
They will see me in the street
In the shop, the car, the hall,
And yet all the time I shall be my own,
In a place where they do not come.