You Moon, Have You Done Something Wrong

A Birthday:-and Now A Day That Rose With Much Of Hope, With Meaning Rife- A Thoughtful Day From Dawn To Close: The Middle Day Of Human Life.

O Fateful Flower Beside The Rill- The Daffodil, The Daffodil!

O Sleep! O Sleep! Do Not Forget Me. Sometimes Come And Sweep, Now I Have Nothing Left, Thy Healing Hand Over The Lids That Crave Thy Visits Bland, Thou Kind, Thou Comforting One. For I Have Seen His Face, As I Desired, And All My Story Is Done. O, I Am Tired.

How Gently Rock Yon Poplars High Against The Reach Of Primrose Sky With Heaven's Pale Candles Stored.

O Woman! Thou Wert Fashioned To Beguile: So Have All Sages Said, All Poets Sung.