Life Has No Friend.

Beauty In All Things-no, We Cannot Hope For That; But Some Place Set Apart For It.

And He Whose Soul Is Flat -- The Sky Will Cave In On Him By And By.

Night Falls Fast. Today Is In The Past.

What Should I Be But Just What I Am?

The First Rose On My Rose-tree Budded, Bloomed, And Shattered, During Sad Days When To Me Nothing Mattered. Grief Or Grief Has Drained Me Clean; Still It Seems A Pity No One Saw,—it Must Have Been Very Pretty.