How Lucious Lies The Pea Within The

Some Arrows Slay But Whom They Strike - But This Slew All But Him - Who So Appareled His Escape - Too Trackless For A Tomb

A Letter Is A Joy Of Earth - It Is Denied The Gods

The Service Without Hope Is Tenderest, I Think-- ... There Is No Diligence Like That That Knows Not An Until

We Trust In Plumed Procession For Such The Angels Go Rank After Rank, With Even Feet/and Uniforms Of Snow.

I Would Paint A Portrait Which Would Bring The Tears, Had I Canvas For It, And The Scene Should Be -- Solitude, And The Figures -- Solitude -- And The Lights And Shades, Each A Solitude.