Thoughts Are Tyrants That Return Again And

I'm Wearying To Escape Into That Glorious World, And To Be Always There; Not Seeing It Dimly Through Tears, And Yearning For It Through The Walls Of An Aching Heart; But Really With It, And In It.

Vain Are The Thousand Creeds That Move Men's Hearts, Unutterably Vain; Worthless As Withered Weeds, Or Idlest Froth Amid The Boundless Main.

Last Night, I Was On The Threshold Of Hell. To-day, I Am Within Sight Of My Heaven. I Have My Eyes On It: Hardly Three Feet To Sever Me!

The Winter Wind Is Loud And Wild, Come Close To Me, My Darling Child; Forsake Thy Books, And Mate Less Play; And, While The Night Is Gathering Grey, We'll Talk Its Pensive Hours Away.

Every Leaf Speaks Bliss To Me, Fluttering From The Autumn Tree.