God Himself Is The Best Poet, And

Oh, The Little Birds Sang East, And The Little Birds Sang West.

I Tell You, Hopeless Grief Is Passionless.

I Heard An Angel Speak Last Night/and He Said, "write!"

My Patience Has Dreadful Chilblains From Standing So Long On A Monument.

I Have Done Most Of My Talking By Post Of Late Years--as People Shut Up In Dungeons Take Up With Scrawling Mottoes On The Walls.