There Is No God. But It Does

There Is No Shelter In You Anywhere.

Under My Head Till Morning; But The Rain, Is Full Of Ghosts Tonight, That Tap And Sigh, Upon The Glass And Listen For Reply.

Life Must Go On; I Forget Just Why.

The First Rose On My Rose-tree Budded, Bloomed, And Shattered, During Sad Days When To Me Nothing Mattered. Grief Or Grief Has Drained Me Clean; Still It Seems A Pity No One Saw,—it Must Have Been Very Pretty.

Beauty Is Whatever Gives Joy.