Truth Never Hurt The Teller.

Can We Love But On Condition That The Thing We Love Must Die?

For Thence A Paradox Which Comforts While It Mocks, - Shall Life Succeed In That It Seems To Fail: What I Aspired To Be, And Was Not, Comforts Me: A Brute I Might Have Been, But Would Not Sink I' The Scale.

We Find Great Things Are Made Of Little Things, And Little Things Go Lessening Till At Last Comes God Behind Them.

Hatred And Cark And Care, What Place Have They / In Yon Blue Liberality Of Heaven?.

If Thou Tastest A Crust Of Bread, Thou Tastest All The Stars And All The Heavens.