Love Is Done When Loves Begun, Sages

Nature Is A Haunted House--but Art--is A House That Tries To Be Haunted.

The Truth I Do Not Dare To Know I Muffle With A Jest.

We Turn Not Older With Years But Newer Every Day.

We Trust In Plumed Procession For Such The Angels Go Rank After Rank, With Even Feet/and Uniforms Of Snow.

I Dwell In Possibility A Fairer House Than Prose More Numerous Of Windows Superior — For Doors.