Love Is Like Life-merely Longer.

The Heart Asks Pleasure--first-- And Then--excuse From Pain

The Possible's Slow Fuse Is Lit By The Imagination.

Forever Is Made Up Of Nows.

Angels In The Early Morning May Be Seen The Dews Among. Stooping, Plucking, Smiling, Flying. Do The Buds To Them Belong?

Beauty Crowds Me Till I Die.