Wildness Is My Suiting Scene.

Language Has Not The Power To Speak What Love Indites: The Soul Lies Buried In The Ink That Writes.

Crowded Places, I Shunned Them As Noises Too Rude / And Flew To The Silence Of Sweet Solitude.

Ah, Words Are Poor Receipts For What Time Hath Stole Away.

I Am The Self-consumer Of My Woes.

Now Summer Is In Flower And Natures Hum Is Never Silent Round Her Sultry Bloom Insects As Small As Dust Are Never Done Wi' Glittering Dance And Reeling In The Sun And Green Wood Fly And Blossom Haunting Bee Are Never Weary Of Their Melody Round Field Hedge Now Flowers In Full Glory Twine Large Bindweed Bells Wild Hop And Streakd Woodbine That Lift Athirst Their Slender Throated Flowers Agape For Dew Falls And For Honey Showers These Round Each Bush In Sweet Disorder Run And Spread Their Wild Hues To The Sultry Sun.