The Earth, say'st thou? The Human race? By Me created? Sad its lot? Nay: I have no remembrance of such place: Such world I fashioned not.

An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small, In blast-beruffled plume, Had chosen thus to fling his soul Upon the growing gloom. So little cause for carolings Of s…

Here by the baring bough Raking up leaves, Often I ponder how Springtime deceives,- I, an old woman now, Raking up leaves.

I leant upon a coppice gate When Frost was spectre-gray, And Winter's dregs made desolate The weakening eye of day.

I imagine that God Himself frequently wants to feel like a king. Why else would He create the world?

Concealment does not veil Him His pre-existence preceded time, His being preceded non-being, His eternity preceded limit.

There were no books in Eden, and there will be none in heaven;