The Heart Asks Pleasure--first-- And Then--excuse From

Then, As Horizons Step, Or Noons Report Away,without The Formula Of Sound, It Passes, And We Stay:a Quality Of Loss Affecting Our Content.

That Short, Potential Stir That Each Can Make But Once, That Bustle So Illustrious Tis Almost Consequence, Is The Eclat Of Death.

Remorse Is Memory Awake.

Dying Is A Wild Night And A New Road.

My Business Is Circumference.