“She felt great elation, a lonely joy that seemed to make her a part of the quiet world around her. Tears were close to her eyes and there was a longing ache in her throat, but her feet were light on the grass and she floated in a world of creative meditation. Worlds came into her mind, little phrases that began to fit together, and she sat down with her back against a tree, her face tilted to a patch of dark sky.
“She sat there a long time. She thought strange sentences; and from them she chose ones she wanted to keep, and she fitted them together as the night darkened and a firefly winked his little lantern through the trees. At last, looking up at a patch of bright stars, she repeated softly,
"'I think of you and Heaven's thoughts are mine.
I look at you and see a soul, divine.
I talk with you and hear an angel's voice,
And loving you, trust, worship, and rejoice.
"'I wonder what I meant and who I was thinking of,' she whispered to herself, murmuring the words again, slowly, lingeringly. 'I wonder if this is why Daddy wanted me to be alone in the dark and in the dawn, so I would feel. It makes me seem so awake inside, so alive, so very close to God -- to Daddy too, and to Mother. To Mother.' Dria clasped her hands around her knees and closed her eyes. I saw Mother's face there in the stars, she thought. I saw her smiling at me and tipping her head the way she always does when she listens. She smiled and listened like that all the time the words were coming. Why, the poem was for her, for Mother.
“The little verse was indelibly stamped on her memory and she considered her creation of it. She had written a poem. Whether it was a good poem or bad didn't matter. It had come from feeling, a desire to create.”
-Janet Lambert, Star Dream (1951), pp. 141-142.