I follow her whose fingers clasp the crust Of the living bread stealthily behind Tense to seize a crumb from the spendthrift wind. When mouths miss All bread is blown to star, a gold dust In the eyes of carnal day. The Ideal, In which sign kneels Piety. I follow patient in purpose. I'll not wait With the frustrated who put on pride. Poor recompense For fullness is an angel mummified! I'll not say with the defeated: - Lord, I have denied life - If life should deny me.