Chapter 4 No.4

I know not if it be the longed for light

Of its creator which the soul perceives,

Or if in people's memory there lives

A touch of early grace that keeps them bright

Or else ambition,-or some dream whose might

Brings to the eyes the hope the heart conceives

And leaves a burning feeling when it leaves-

That tears are welling in me as I write.

The things I feel, the things I follow and the things

I seek-are not in me,-I hardly know the place

To find them. It is others make them mine.

It happens when I see thee-and it brings

Sweet pain-a yes,-a no,-sorrow and grace

Surely it must have been those eyes of thine.

There are others which give a most touching picture of extreme piety in extreme old age. And there are still others which are both love poems and religious poems at the same time.