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Poem	I cautious, scanned my little life -- I winnowed what would fade From what would last till Heads like mine Should be a-dreaming laid. I put the latter in a Barn -- The former, blew away. I went one winter morning And lo - my priceless Hay Was not upon the "Scaffold" -- Was not upon the "Beam" -- And from a thriving Farmer -- A Cynic, I became. Whether a Thief did it -- Whether it was the wind -- Whether Deity's guiltless -- My business is, to find! So I begin to ransack! How is it Hearts, with Thee? Art thou within the little Barn Love provided Thee?
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