I Dwell In Possibility.

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

Wild Nights – Wild Nights! Were I With Thee Wild Nights Should Be Our Luxury! Futile – The Winds – To A Heart In Port – Done With The Compass – Done With The Chart! Rowing In Eden – Ah, The Sea! Might I Moor – Tonight – In Thee!

The Truth Never Flaunted A Sign.

Our Little Kinsmen After Rain In Plenty May Be Seen, A Pink And Pulpy Multitude The Tepid Ground Upon; A Needless Life If Seemed To Me Until A Little Bird As To A Hospitality Advanced And Breakfasted.

Those Who Have Not Found The Heaven Below, Will Fail Of It Above.