A Face To Lose Youth For, To

The Body Sprang At Once To The Height, And Stayed; But The Soul,-no!

What So Wild As Words Are?

Motherhood: All Love Begins And Ends There.

Such Ever Was Love's Way: To Rise, It Stoops.

Paracelsus At Times I Almost Dream I Too Have Spent A Life The Sages’ Way, And Tread Once More Familiar Paths. Perchance I Perished In An Arrogant Self-reliance Ages Ago; And In That Act A Prayer For One More Chance Went Up So Earnest, So Instinct With Better Light Let In By Death, That Life Was Blotted Out — Not So Completely But Scattered Wrecks Enough Of It Remain, Dim Memories, As Now, When Once More Seems The Goal In Sight Again.