I Have An Appetite For Silence.

I Dwell In Possibility A Fairer House Than Prose More Numerous Of Windows Superior--for Doors Of Chambers As The Cedars Impregnable Of Eye And For An Everlasting Roof The Gambrels Of The Sky Of Visitors--the Fairest For Occupation--this The Spreading Wide My Narrow Hands To Gather Paradise

When We Think Of His Lone Effort To Live And Its Bleak Reward, The Mind Turns To The Myth "for His Mercy Endureth Forever," With Confiding Revulsion.

Love Can Do All But Raise The Dead.

I Stepped From Plank To Plank So Slow And Cautiously; The Stars About My Head I Felt, About My Feet The Sea. I Knew Not But The Next Would Be My Final Inch,— This Gave Me That Precarious Gait Some Call Experience.

His Labor Is A Chant - His Idleness -a Tune - Oh, For A Bee's Experience Of Clovers, And Of Noon!