At Owley

Dear, I wished you had been there;
It was almost a pain to bear
The beauty of that place alone;
One needed a companion.

You know the hour one trembling star
Anchors off a black belt of fir;
I trembled too, like him unshod
Who saw the flowering of his God.

And I remember came the thought,
Should God by act of death be brought
Nearer than how, might I not die
Slain by my immortality?
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