All is varied with flowers gay
And the soul, expressive as the sun!
Aloft, carefree, I dream dreams to be
Among the forlorn bones of war-torn frames!
The poet has called his life a spirit
To tell the world, their soul, unfit
Lest, a part of God--intent!
Refuge, the poet flees high,--
Refuge In Oxford
Such praise, but these scenes are texts of beauty!
There's no painting half so alluring
Nor any depiction by novelist Faulkner
Can array the soul of God without words.