The Poet Lights The Light And Fades

... I Have No Letter From The Dead, Yet Daily Love Them More.

We Never Know We Go When We Are Going- We Jest And Shut The Door- Fate-following-behind Us Bolts It- And We Accost No More-.

Here Is A Little Forest Whose Leaf Is Ever Green; Here Is A Brighter Garden, Where Not A Frost Has Been; In Its Unfading Flowers I Hear The Bright Bee Hum; Prithee, My Brother, Into My Garden Come!

Behavior Is What A Man Does, Not What He Thinks, Feels, Or Believes.

Hope Is The Thing With Feathers That Perches In The Soul.