Turn The Key Deftly In The Oiled

I Have Two Luxuries To Brood Over In My Walks, Your Loveliness And The Hour Of My Death. O That I Could Have Possession Of Them Both In The Same Minute.

Philosophy Will Clip An Angel's Wings, Conquer All Mysteries By Rule And Line, Empty The Haunted Air, And Gnomed Mine - Unweave A Rainbow.

She Press'd His Hand In Slumber; So Once More He Could Not Help But Kiss Her And Adore.

I Am In That Temper That If I Were Under Water I Would Scarcely Kick To Come To The Top.

His Religion At Best Is An Anxious Wish,-like That Of Rabelais, A Great Perhaps.