Truth - Is As Old As God-.

Wonder Is Not Precisely Knowing.

A Wounded Deer Leaps Highest, I've Heard The Hunter Tell; 'tis But The Ecstasy Of Death, And Then The Brake Is Still. The Smitten Rock That Gushes, The Trampled Steel That Springs,, A Cheek Is Always Redder Just Where The Hectic Stings Mirth Is Mail Of Anguish, In Which Its Cautious Arm Lest Anybody Spy The Blood And, You're Hurt Exclaim.

The Only Commandment I Ever Obeyed — 'consider The Lilies.

Not 'revelation'-'tis That Waits/ But Our Unfurnished Eyes

Just A Turn Of The Doorknob, And There Lies Freedom.