It Keeps Eternal Whisperings Around Desolate Shores

I Shall Soon Be Laid In The Quiet Grave - Thank God For The Quiet Grave

Here Are Sweet Peas, On Tiptoe For A Flight; With Wings Of Gentle Flush O'er Delicate White, And Taper Fingers Catching At All Things, To Bind Them All About With Tiny Rings.

Neither Poetry, Nor Ambition, Nor Love Have Any Alertness Of Countenance As They Pass By Me.

All Clean And Comfortable I Sit Down To Write.

Life Is But A Day; A Fragile Dewdrop On Its Perilous Way From A Tree's Summit.