I Could Not Prove The Years Had

Dreams Are The Subtle Dower That Make Us Rich An Hour Then Fling Us Poor Out Of The Purple Door.

She Died--this Was The Way She Died; And When Her Breath Was Done, Took Up Her Simple Wardrobe And Started For The Sun. Her Little Figure At The Gate The Angels Must Have Spied, Since I Could Never Find Her Upon The Mortal Side.

Morning Without You Is A Dwindled Dawn.

My Friends Are My Estate.

The Reticent Volcano Keeps His Never Slumbering Plan - Confided Are His Projects Pink To No Precarious Man.