“A universe of sky and snow!”
Philosophy can’t clip an angel’s wings.
At most it might pluck out one pinion white
As purity in Jesus. Thoreau sings,
Denies that he and God were in a fight—
I didn’t know we’d ever quarrelled— speaks
The dying man. He loved a snowstorm more
Than Christ and high inside the thinker peaks
Of Henry he has chosen to adore
Ice thinking over neighbors’ attitudes.
Archangels find that they are on his side.
Philosophy that truly thinks exudes
A cleaner beauty than a guardian guide.
..Why clip an angel’s wings when thinking can
….Enfold them in the hovering mind of man?