LOVE IMMORTAL

Sects, ye have your day and die,Eddies in the stream of truth,—The great current, sweeping by,Leaves you swirled in shapes uncouth,Born to writhe, and glint, and woo—Broken mirrors of the Blue.

Creeds! O captured heavenly bird,Fluttering heart and folded wing!Shall ye see those pinions stirred?Can your caged Creation sing?Will ye herald as your prizeWhat was bred to soar the skies?

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FROM OUR EXCHANGES
August 3, 1907
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