“Some say we came God's purpose to fulfil -Faith a poor purpose then, if so you will;Sport for the heavenly huntsmen, others say, -Sorry the sport, methinks, and poor the skill.”

“To all of us the thought of heaven is dear -Why not be sure of it and make it here?No doubt there is a heaven yonder too,But 'tis so far away - and you are near.Men talk of heaven, - there is no heaven but here;Men talk of hell, - there is no hell but here;Men of hereafters talk, and future lives,O love, there is no other life - but here.”

“Were I a woman, I would all day longSing my own beauty in some holy song,Bend low before it, hushed and half afraid,And say 'I am a woman' all day long.”

“What long-dead face makes here the grass so green?On what earth-buried bosom do we lean?Ah! love, when we in turn are grass and flowers,By what kind eyes to come shall we be seen?”

“And do you think that unto such as you,A maggot-minded, starved, fanatic crew,God gave the Secret, and denied it me? -Well, well, what matters it! believe that too.”

“So I be written in the Book of Love,I have no care about that book above;Erase my name, or write it, as you please -So I be written in the Book of Love.”

“The soul is but senses catching fire,Marvellous music of the body's lyre, -The angel senses are the silver stringsStirred by the breath of some unknown desire.”