Since There My Past Life Lies, Why

Each Life Unfulfilled, You See; It Hangs Still, Patchy And Scrappy: We Have Not Sighed Deep, Laughed Free, Starved, Feasted, Despaired,—been Happy.

Graved Inside Of It, "italy".

What Youth Deemed Crystal, Age Finds Out Was Dew.

I Give The Fight Up: Let There Be An End, A Privacy, An Obscure Nook For Me. I Want To Be Forgotten Even By God.

Boot, Saddle, To Horse, And Away!