Which Anguish Was The Utterest--then-- To Perish,

Time Is Short And Full, Like An Outgrown Frock - .

How Strange That Nature Does Not Knock, And Yet Does Not Intrude!

The Will Is Always Near, Dear, Though The Feet Vary.

Just A Turn Of The Doorknob, And There Lies Freedom.

Some Arrows Slay But Whom They Strike - But This Slew All But Him - Who So Appareled His Escape - Too Trackless For A Tomb