Beauty Is Not Caused. It Is.

By Chivalries As Tiny, A Blossom, Or A Book, The Seeds Of Smiles Are Planted- Which Blossom In The Dark.

Unable Are The Loved To Die, For Love Is Immortality.

The Distance That The Dead Have Gone Does Not At First Appear- Their Coming Back Seems Possible For Many An Ardent Year.

A Sick Room Is At Times Too Sacred A Place For A Friend's Knock, Timid As That Is.

Love Is Its Own Rescue; For We, At Our Supremest, Are But Its Trembling Emblems.