"For the sleepers in that quiet earth
Neither heath nor stillness shall ever keep my Heaven,
Locked in the symmetry of some measured, Godly oak.
Where fir and wind are eternally shut out,
And Nature's tears drive wildly against it's lid.
My Heaven shall be those tears,
And my arm that percussive limb,
And my heart shall dance with no religious edge,
In the fires of passion,
And not the embers of Hell.