It Was Not The Apple On The

We Have Hearts Within, Warm, Live, Improvident, Indecent Hearts.

Deep Violets, You Liken To The Kindest Eyes That Look On You, Without A Thought Disloyal.

And Wilt Thou Have Me Fashion Into Speech The Love I Bear Thee, Finding Words Enough, And Hold The Torch Out, While The Winds Are Rough, Between Our Faces, To Cast Light On Each? - I Dropt It At Thy Feet. I Cannot Teach My Hand To Hold My Spirits So Far Off From Myself--me--that I Should Bring Thee Proof In Words, Of Love Hid In Me Out Of Reach. Nay, Let The Silence Of My Womanhood Commend My Woman-love To Thy Belief, - Seeing That I Stand Unwon, However Wooed, And Rend The Garment Of My Life, In Brief, By A Most Dauntless, Voiceless Fortitude, Lest One Touch Of This Heart Convey Its Grief.

Measure Not The Work Until The Day's Out And The Labor Done.

Souls Are Dangerous Things To Carry Straight Through All The Spilt Saltpetre Of This World.