Summer's Lease Hath All Too Short A

Yon Grey Lines That Fret The Clouds Are Messengers Of Day.

The Instruments Of Darkness Tell Us Truths.

Barnes Are Blessings.

The Smallest Worm Will Turn Being Trodden On, And Doves Will Peck In Safeguard Of Their Brood.

I Kissed Thee Ere I Killed Thee. No Way But This, Killing Myself, To Die Upon A Kiss.