I Have An Appetite For Silence.

There Is A Solitude Of Space. A Solitude Of Sea. A Solitude Of Death, But These Societies Shall Be Compared With That Profounder Site-that Polar Privacy. A Soul Admitted To Itself--finite Infinity.

We Turn Not Older With Years But Newer Every Day.

At Least To Pray Is Left - Is Left Oh Jesus - In The Air - I Know Not Which Thy Chamber Is - I'm Knocking Everywhere.

Twin Loaves Of Bread Have Just Been Born Into The World Under My Auspices. Fine Children, The Image Of Their Mother. And Here, My Dear Friend, Is The Glory.

To Fight Aloud Is Very Brave, But Gallanter, I Know, Who Charge Within The Bosom, The Cavalry Of Woe.