 Who knows what our dreams are?
         Who knows all that God makes? 
 Perhaps life doth but mar
         The immediate truth that takes 
 Its beauty from being dreame 
 Nothing eter merely seeme
 Somewhere where God is nearer
         These things are een now tru 
 Oh, let me be no fearer
         That this may not be so! 
 All is more strange than that 
 Small glimpse of it we ge
 Mine eyes are wild with joy
         Because I have these thought 
 They cannot tire nor cloy
         Because God ever allots 
 To each high thing the power 
 To weigh not on its hou
 My flower garden is
         Full of new flowers no 
 My lips are kissed by bliss
         Because I know not ho 
 My heart fails and I swim 
 Within a luminous ri
 A halo of hope comes round
         My sou I am that child 
 That cries: Lo! I have found
         This flower strange and wil 
 The unknown flower I have 
 Grew on my dead dreams' grav
 A trembling sense of being
         More than my sense can hold, 
 A bird of feeling seeing
         The great, earth‑hidden gold 
 Of the approaching dawn, 
 A breath, a light, a swoon,