There Is No Lord Within My Heart, Left Silent As An Empty Shrine Where Rose And Myrtle Intertwine, Within A Place Apart. No God Is There Of Carven Stone To Watch With Still Approving Eyes My Thoughts Like Steady Incense Rise; I Dream And Weep Alone. But If I Keep My Altar Fair, Some Morning I Shall Lift My Head From Roses Deftly Garlanded To Find The God Is There.