 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
A THOUGHT
Once, looking from a window on a landThat lay in silence underneath the sun,—
A land of broad, green meadows, through which poured
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Thus as I looked, I know not how nor whence,
Was born into my unexpectant soul
That thought, late learned by anxious-witted man,
The infinite patience of the Eternal Mind.
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |