Words Are But Holy As The Deeds

Joy, Once Lost, Is Pain

All Love Is Sweet Given Or Returned. Common As Light Is Love, And Its Familiar Voice Wearies Not Ever.

O Wild West Wind, Thou Breath Of Autumn's Being. Thou, From Whose Unseen Presence The Leaves Dead Are Driven, Like Ghosts From An Enchanter Fleeing.

The Intense Atom Glows A Moment, Then Is Quenched In A Most Cold Repose.

Death Is The Veil Which Those Who Live Call Life; They Sleep, And It Is Lifted.