My Sun Sets To Raise Again.

A Man May Love A Woman Perfectly, And Yet By No Means Ignorantly Maintain A Thousand Women Have Not Larger Eyes. Enough That She Alone Has Looked At Him With Eyes That, Large Or Small, Have Won His Soul.

If I Leave All For Thee, Wilt Thou Exchange And Be All To Me?

We Overstate The Ills Of Life, And Take Imagination... Down Our Earth To Rake.

Of Writing Many Books There Is No End; And I Who Have Written Much In Prose And Verse For Others' Uses, Will Write Now For Mine,- Will Write My Story For My Better Self, As When You Paint Your Portrait For A Friend, Who Keeps It In A Drawer And Looks At It Long After He Has Ceased To Love You, Just To Hold Together What He Was And Is.

Large, Musing Eyes, Neither Joyous Nor Sorry.