Again, the rustling of a piece of toilet-papersummons you back, bringing you pacing & fidgetingdown the long cell-blocks of cubicles,trying the doors or pretending to be looking for a nickeluntil suddenly, your few seconds up,the automatic flushing system unleashes,discharging you back into your drowning.Hart,stay back there & forget me-- forgetthis system their pumping refills, this stillnessalready being baited with fresh rustlings.
Stiff, clerkly, he swept by me.Staring straight ahead strangely:Leaving the urinal for the fifth or sixthTime that night and still alone.He who probably for years had rejectedThis Last, most despised of all releases,Now himself by it to be rejectedSurely must almost craze.Fearing for him, I followed;Yet stung only further by my pityHe would not stop. Since that nightI have not seen him again.
Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell? I humbly crave,Let me once know.I sought thee in a secret cave,And ask'd, if Peace were there,A hollow wind did seem to answer, No:Go seek elsewhere.I did; and going did a rainbow note:Surely, thought I,This is the lace of Peace's coat:I will search out the matter.But while I looked the clouds immediatelyDid break and scatter.Then went I to a garden and did spyA gallant flower,The crown-imperial: Sure, said I,
Nature -- the Gentlest Mother is,Impatient of no Child --The feeblest -- or the waywardest --Her Admonition mild --In Forest -- and the Hill --By Traveller -- be heard --Restraining Rampant Squirrel --Or too impetuous Bird --How fair Her Conversation --A Summer Afternoon --Her Household -- Her Assembly --And when the Sun go down --Her Voice among the AislesIncite the timid prayerOf the minutest Cricket --The most unworthy Flower --
If faithful souls be alike glorifiedAs angels, then my fathers soul doth see,And adds this even to full felicity,That valiantly I hells wide mouth o'erstride:But if our minds to these souls be descriedBy circumstances, and by signs that beApparent in us, not immediately,How shall my mind's white truth by them be tried?They see idolatrous lovers weep and mourn,And vile blasphemous conjurers to callOn Jesus name, and PharisaicalDissemblers feigne devotion. Then turn,O pensive soul, to God, for he knows bestThy true grief, for he put it in my breast.