Luck Is Not Chance, It's Toil; Fortune's

I Cannot Live With You, It Would Be Life, And Life Is Over There Behind The Shelf

But A Book Is Only The Heart's Portrait- Every Page A Pulse.

I Had No Monarch In My Life, And Cannot Rule Myself; And When I Try To Organize, My Little Force Explodes And Leaves Me Bare And Charred.

For Each Ecstatic Instant We Must An Anguish Pay In Keen And Quivering Ratio To The Ecstasy.

Hope Is The Thing With Feathers That Perches In The Soul - And Sings The Tunes Without The Words - And Never Stops At All.