Will our work live ? we ask ; and we can answer only in our own words...: It lives, " If precious be the soul of man to man "

I know not,
care not,
for I deem no shame to hold men and women,
flowers,
and trees and stars the same,
Myself,
as these,
one atom in the whole.

I do not hunger for a well-stored mind,
I only wish to live my life,
and find my heart in unison with all mankind.
My life is like a single star,
that trembles on the horizon's
primrose-bar,---
A microcosm where all things living are.

And if,
among the noiseless grasses,
Death should come behind and take away my breath,
I should not rise as one who sorroweth;

The light is flying;
in the silver-blue
the young moon shines from her bright window through :
The mowers are all gone, and I go too.