Longing Is Like A Seed That Wrestles

Apparently With No Surprise To Any Happy Flower The Frost Beheads It At Its Play -- In Accidental Power -- The Blonde Assassin Passes On -- The Sun Proceeds Unmoved To Measure Off Another Day For An Approving God.

Not Knowing When The Dawn Will Come I Open Every Door.

I Think Heaven Will Not Be As Good As Earth, Unless It Bring With It That Sweet Power To Remember, Which Is The Staple Of Heaven Here.

I Had No Time To Hate, Because The Grave Would Hinder Me, And Life Was Not So Ample I Could Finish Enmity Nor Had I Time To Love: But Since Some Industry Must Be, The Little Toil Of Love, I Thought, Was Large Enough For Me.

They Might Not Need Me; But They Might. I'll Let My Head Be Just In Sight; A Smile As Small As Mine Might Be Precisely Their Necessity.