I Had No Monarch In My Life,

The Things That Never Can Come Back, Are Several- Childhood-some Forms Of Hope-the Dead- Though Joys-like Men-may Sometimes Make A Journey- And Still Abide-.

Besides The Autumn Poets Sing, A Few Prosaic Days, A Little This Side Of The Snow, And That Side Of The Haze..., Grant Me, Oh Lord, A Sunny Mind- Thy Windy Will To Bear!

Prayer Is The Little Implement Through Which Men Reach; Where Presence Is Denied Them.

A Word Is Dead When It Is Said, Some Say. I Say It Just Begins To Live That Day.

A Shady Friend For Torrid Days Is Easier To Find Than One Of Higher Temperature For Frigid Hour Of Mind.