I Seem To Have Always One Little

Life's Sharpest Rapture Is Surcease Of Pain.

I Seem To Have Always One Little Window Looking But Into Life.

Still Ours The Dance, The Feast, The Glorious Psalm, The Mystic Lights Of Emblem, And The Word.

Give Me Your Tired, Your Poor, Your Huddled Masses Yearning To Breathe Free, The Wretched Refuse Of Your Teeming Shore, Send These, The Homeless, Tempest-tossed, To Me: I Lift My Lamp Beside The Golden Door.

My Own Curiosity And Interest Are Insatiable.