Beauty Like Hers Is Genius.

Beauty Without The Beloved Is A Like A Sword Through The Heart.

From Perfect Grief There Need Not Bewisdom Or Even Memory;one Thing Then Learned Remains To Me -the Woodspurge Has A Cup Of Three.

Unto The Man Of Yearning Thought And Aspiration, To Do Nought Is In Itself Almost An Act.

Look In My Face; My Name Is Might-have-been; I Am Also Call'd No-more, Too-late, Farewell.

Was It A Friend Or Foe That Spread These Lies; Nay, Who But Infants Question In Such Wise, Twas One Of My Most Intimate Enemies.