There Is A Budding Morrow In Midnight.

There Is A Budding Tomorrow In Midnight.

I Wish You Could Invent Some Means To Make Me At All Happy Without You. Every Hour I Am More And More Concentrated In You; Everything Else Tastes Like Chaff In My Mouth.

A Hope Beyond The Shadow Of A Dream.

The Imagination Of A Boy Is Healthy, And The Mature Imagination Of A Man Is Healthy; But There Is A Space Of Life Between, In Which The Soul Is In A Ferment, The Character Undecided, The Way Of Life Uncertain, The Ambition Thick-sighted: Thence Proceeds Mawkishness.

Oh What Can Ail Thee, Knight-at-arms, Alone And Palely Loitering?