American poet
Home!
By what magic comes this spell?
What wand has touched these humble walls,
And made them glow as with a holy warmth?
What disembodied spirit glorifies the place?
Whose feet may claim the phantom echoes
That bring once more a thrill?
Whose memoried voice is this that holds
More sacred music in its roughest note
Than ever came from seraph's throat?
EDWIN LEIBFREED
"The Lesser Deity", A Soliloquy of Life
Religion, like all things, begins with self,
And naught is known, until one knows himself.
EDWIN LEIBFREED
"Veritas Vincit"
Every dead hope is a phantom that grimaces over its tomb.
EDWIN LEIBFREED
"The White Feet of the Morrow"
No matter whether failure came
A thousand different times,
For one brief moment of success,
Life rang its golden chimes.
EDWIN LEIBFREED
"I Am Content"