Beauty Is Not Caused. It Is.

I Dwell In Possibility A Fairer House Than Prose More Numerous Of Windows Superior — For Doors.

Wild Nights – Wild Nights! Were I With Thee Wild Nights Should Be Our Luxury! Futile – The Winds – To A Heart In Port – Done With The Compass – Done With The Chart! Rowing In Eden – Ah, The Sea! Might I Moor – Tonight – In Thee!

The Friend Anguish Reveals Is The Slowest Forgot.

Which Anguish Was The Utterest--then-- To Perish, Or To Live?

The Abdication Of Belief Makes The Behavior Small- Better An Ignis Fatuus Than No Illume At All.