It is very clear there is a sacred within us.
It is as lucid as externals like skin or flesh.
A house of solidly ethereal bones.
Within it all those spiritual children running.
All those small but important sacred feet,
making exquisite, impeccable steps.
All of the dead before you and the dead after you.
Take your place in line between these.
If there is no place you ever belonged, the finite is not
lacking in earnest interest, nor efficiency or concern.
The guests who came with you are going. Follow their
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Comments about this poem (Transcendance by Romella Kitchens )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(January 6, 1883 – April 10, 1931)
(8 December 65 BC – 27 November 8 BC)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
- The Tiger, William Blake
- Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
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- A Child's Christmas in Wales, Dylan Thomas
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep, Mary Elizabeth Frye
- When You Are Old, William Butler Yeats
- Alone, Edgar Allan Poe
- If, Rudyard Kipling
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