I Know I Am But Summer To

Time Does Not Bring Relief; You All Have Lied Who Told Me Time Would Ease Me Of My Pain! I Miss Him In The Weeping Of The Rain; I Want Him At The Shrinking Of The Tide; The Old Snows Melt From Every Mountain-side, And Last Year's Leaves Are Smoke In Every Lane; But Last Year's Bitter Loving Must Remain Heaped On My Heart, And My Old Thoughts Abide! There Are A Hundred Places Where I Fear To Go,--so With His Memory They Brim! And Entering With Relief Some Quiet Place Where Never Fell His Foot Or Shone His Face I Say, 'there Is No Memory Of Him Here!' And So Stand Stricken, So Remembering Him!

This Book, When I Am Dead, Will Be A Little Faint Perfume Of Me. People Who Knew Me Well Will Say, She Really Used To Think That Way.

Let Us Not Forget Such Words, And All They Mean, As Hatred, Bitterness, And Rancor Greed, Intolerance, Bigotry; Let Us Renew Our Faith And Pledge To Man, His Right To Be Himself And Free.

The Only People I Really Hate Are Servants. They're Not Really Human Beings At All.

Pity Me That The Heart Is Slow To Learn What The Swift Mind Beholds At Every Turn.