Poetry Archives

We are deceived by the shadow, we see not the
    substance of things.
For the hills are less solid than thought; and
    deeds are but vapors; and flesh
Is a mist thrown off and resumed by the soul, as
    a world by a god.
Back of the transient appearance dwells in inef-
    fable calm
The utter reality, ultimate truth; this seems and
    that is.