I Shall Die, But That Is All

For The Body At Best Is A Bundle Of Aches, Longing For Rest; It Cries When It Wakes.

I Am Waylaid By Beauty.

Beautiful As A Dandelion-blossom Golden In The Green Grass, This Life Can Be.

The First Rose On My Rose-tree Budded, Bloomed, And Shattered, During Sad Days When To Me Nothing Mattered. Grief Or Grief Has Drained Me Clean; Still It Seems A Pity No One Saw,—it Must Have Been Very Pretty.

Childhood Is Not From Birth To A Certain Age And At A Certain Age. The Child Is Grown, And Puts Away Childish Things. Childhood Is The Kingdom Where Nobody Dies.