We Turn Not Older With Years But

The Spreading Wide My Narrow Hands / To Gather Paradise-.

I Dwell In Possibility A Fairer House Than Prose More Numerous Of Windows Superior--for Doors Of Chambers As The Cedars Impregnable Of Eye And For An Everlasting Roof The Gambrels Of The Sky Of Visitors--the Fairest For Occupation--this The Spreading Wide My Narrow Hands To Gather Paradise

Why Should We Censure Othello When The Criterion Lover Says, "thou Shalt Have No Other Gods Before Me"?

The Bustle In A House The Morning After Death Is Solemnest Of Industries Enacted Upon Earth,-- The Sweeping Up The Heart, And Putting Love Away We Shall Not Want To Use Again Until Eternity

To Die Before One Fears To Die May Be A Boon.