I Despise Him For Himself, And Hate

I'm Wearying To Escape Into That Glorious World, And To Be Always There; Not Seeing It Dimly Through Tears, And Yearning For It Through The Walls Of An Aching Heart; But Really With It, And In It.

Love Is Like The Wild Rose-briar; Friendship Like The Holly-tree. The Holly Is Dark When The Rose-briar Blooms, But Which Will Bloom Most Constantly?

It’s No Company At All, When People Know Nothing And Say Nothing,’ She Muttered.

I Cannot Express It: But Surely You And Everybody Have A Notion That There Is, Or Should Be, An Existence Of Yours Beyond You.

You're Hard To Please: So Many Friends And So Few Cares, And Can't Make Yourself Content.