I Am Out With Lanterns, Looking For

The Poet Lights The Light And Fades Away. But The Light Goes On And On.

Love Is Its Own Rescue; For We, At Our Supremest, Are But Its Trembling Emblems.

Remorse Is Cureless--the Disease Not Even God--can Heal-- For 'tis His Institution--and The Adequate Of Hell

This Is My Letter To The World That Never Wrote To Me

The Brain Is Wider Than The Sky, For, Put Them Side By Side, The One The Other Will Include With Ease, And You Beside.