Success Is Counted Sweetest / By Those

To Shut Your Eyes Is To Travel.

I Know Some Lonely Houses Off The Road A Robber'd Like The Look Of,-- Wooden Barred, And Windows Hanging Low

A Murmur In The Trees - To Note - Not Loud Enough - For Wind - A Star - Not Far Enough To Seek - Nor Near Enough - To Find

After Great Pain, A Formal Feeling Comes. The Nerves Sit Ceremonious, Like Tombs.

In This Short Life That Only Lasts Ah Hour How Much-how Little-is Within Our Power.