Breathless, We Flung Us On A Windy

Oh! Death Will Find Me Long Before I Tire Of Watching You.

Youth Is Stranger Than Fiction.

Fish Say, They Have Their Stream And Pond; But Is There Anything Beyond?

I Have Need To Busy My Heart With Quietude.

Blow Out, You Bugles, Over The Rich Dead! There's None Of These So Lonely And Poor Of Old, But, Dying, Has Made Us Rarer Gifts Than Gold.