How Softly Summer Shuts, Without The Creaking

Portraits Are To Daily Faces As An Evening West To A Fine, Pedantic Sunshine In A Satin Vest.

This Is The Hour Of Lead- Remembered, If Outlived, As Freezing Persons, Recollect The Snow- First-chill-then Stupor- Then The Letting Go---

A Wounded Deer Leaps The Highest.

Forever Is Made Up Of Nows.

The Truth Must Dazzle Gradually Or Every Man Be Blind.