Love At The Lips Was Touch As

The Rose Is A Rose, And Was Always A Rose. But The Theory Now Goes That The Apple's A Rose.

Style Is Less The Man Than The Way A Man Takes Himself.

I Fail To See What Fun, What Satisfaction / A God Can Find In Laughing At How Badly / Men Fumble At The Possibilities.

Belief Is Better Than Anything Else, And It Is Best When Rapt - Above Paying Its Respects To Anybody's Doubt Whatsoever.

I Dwell With A Strangely Aching Heart In That Vanished Abode There Far Apart