We Have Hearts Within, Warm, Live, Improvident,

And If God Choose I Shall But Love Thee Better After Death.

The Greeks Said Grandly In Their Tragic Phrase, 'let No One Be Called Happy Till His Death;' To Which I Would Add, 'let No One, Till His Death, Be Called Unhappy.'

His Ears Were Often The First Thing To Catch My Tears.

A Great Acacia, With Its Slender Trunk And Overpoise Of Multitudinous Leaves. (in Which A Hundred Fields Might Spill Their Dew And Intense Verdure, Yet Find Room Enough) Stood Reconciling All The Place With Green.

Art Is Much, But Love Is More.