Friends Are Ourselves.

Man Hath Weaved Out A Net, And This Net Throwne Upon The Heavens, And Now They Are His Own.

No Spring Nor Summer Beauty Hath Such Grace As I Have Seen In One Autumnal Face.

To Roam Giddily, And Be Everywhere But At Home, Such Freedom Doth A Banishment Become.

Commemoration Of Pandita Mary Ramabai, Translator Of The Scriptures, 1922 A Memory Of Yesterday's Pleasures, A Fear Of Tomorrow's Dangers, A Straw Under My Knees, A Noise In My Ear, A Light In My Eye, An Anything, A Nothing, A Fancy, A Chimera In My Brain, Troubles Me In My Prayers.

Nature's Lay Idiot, I Taught Thee To Love.