Purple Lilies Dante Blew To A Larger

The Soul's Rialto Hath Its Merchandise, I Barter For Curl Upon That Mart.

God's Gifts Put Man's Best Dreams To Shame.

What We Call Life Is A Condition Of The Soul. And The Soul Must Improve In Happiness And Wisdom, Except By Its Own Fault. These Tears In Our Eyes, These Faintings Of The Flesh, Will Not Hinder Such Improvement.

Every Wish Is Like A Prayer--with God.

O Death, O Beyond, Thou Art Sweet, Thou Art Strange!