Much Madness Is Divinest Sense, To A

My Love For Those I Love -- Not Many -- Not Very Many, But Don't I Love Them So?

The Supernatural Is Only The Natural Disclosed.

There's A Certain Slant Of Light, Winter Afternoons— That Oppresses, Like The Heft Of Cathedral Tunes— Heavenly Hurt, It Gives Us— We Can Find No Scar, But Internal Difference, Where The Meanings, Are.... When It Comes, The Landscape Listens— Shadows—hold Their Breath— When It Goes, 'tis Like The Distance On The Look Of Death.

I Think Of Love, And You, And My Heart Grows Full And Warm, And My Breath Stands Still... I Can Feel A Sunshine Stealing Into My Soul And Making It All Summer, And Every Thorn, A Rose.

A Light Exists In Spring Not Present In The Year At Any Other Period When March Is Scarcely Here.