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I will go up to the woods again;
And will let me in through a vaulted door-
To the sunlit nave, for there-
Nothing will matter anymore!
Here is a passive priestess done-
With love and laughter and strife and stir.
She kindles her candles one by one;
And does not dwell on the things that were.
Walling her spirit with sky and earth,
She does her penance to sky and trees.
She sweeps the floor with a holy mirth;
And joins in the bird’ bright melodies.
But if ever a footfall wake the calm,
Till the tall ferns trembles and draw apart,
She will snuff the taper and still the Psalm;
And bar the door with a beating heart!! …