A Grave Is Such A Quiet Place.

A Ghost In Marble Of A Girl You Knew Who Would Have Loved You In A Day Or Two.

Oh, Friend, Forget Not, When You Fain Would Note In Me A Beauty That Was Never Mine, How First You Knew Me In A Book I Wrote, How First You Loved Me For A Written Line.

Although We Sometimes Did Without A Few Of Life's Necessities, We Rarely Lacked For Its Luxuries.

Beauty Never Slumbers; All Is In Her Name; But The Rose Remembers The Dust From Which It Came.

I Have Loved Badly, Loved The Great Too Soon, Withdrawn My Words Too Late; And Eaten In An Echoing Hall Alone And From A Chipped Plate The Words That I Withdrew Too Late.