That Which Has Quelled Me, Lives With

No One But Night, With Tears On Her Dark Face, Watches Beside Me In This Windy Place.

Guess I'll Weep Awhile. Guess I Won't, I Mean.

Lord, I Do Fear Thou'st Made The World Too Beautiful This Year My Soul Is All But Out Of Me-let Fall No Burning Leaf; Prithee, Let No Bird Call.

Progress-progress Is The Dirtiest Word In The Language-who Ever Told Us- And Made Us Believe It-that To Take A Step Forward Was Necessarily, Was Always A Good Idea?

Beauty Is Whatever Gives Joy.