Anger As Soon As Fed Is Dead-

The Soul Selects Her Own Society, Then Shuts The Door; On Her Divine Majority Obtrude No More.

The Lovely Flowers Embarrass Me. They Make Me Regret I Am Not A Bee.

A Letter Always Seemed To Me Like Immortality Because It Is The Mind Alone Without Corporeal Friend.

Beauty Crowds Me Till I Die. Beauty, Mercy Have On Me! Yet If I Expire To-day Let It Be In Sight Of Thee!

There Is A Zone Whose Even Years No Solstice Interrupt - Whose Sun Constructs Perpetual Noon Whose Perfect Seasons Wait - Whose Summer Set In Summer, Till The Centuries Of June And Centuries Of August Cease And Consciousness - Is Noon.