The Soul Should Always Stand Ajar.

If I Shouldn't Be Alive When The Robins Come, Give The One In Red Cravat, A Memorial Crumb.

The Past Is Not A Package One Can Lay Away.

Angels In The Early Morning May Be Seen The Dews Among. Stooping, Plucking, Smiling, Flying. Do The Buds To Them Belong?

Finite To Fail, But Infinite To Venture.

Which Anguish Was The Utterest--then-- To Perish, Or To Live?