One of the "Songs from the Land of Port."

 When our two souls stand up full straight and strong,
 Face to face, hushed, and draw nigh and more nigh,
 Till the wings that grow flare flames up high
 From each curved point -- what sharp-taste wrong
 Can the earth do to us, that we should not long
 Be here at peace?  Think.  If we mount high,
 God's folks would press on us, and try
 To drop some gold orb of pure song
 In our deep, dear hush.  Let us stay
 Then on earth, Dear, -- where those moods, not fit
 And cross grained, of men bounce off as may
 And draw off pure souls, and let
 Us place to stand and love in for a day,
 Where dark and death's time stalk round it.

                                -- Liz Makes-Brown ("Ba")