My Patience Has Dreadful Chilblains From Standing

You Smell A Rose Through A Fence: If Two Should Smell It, What Matter?

I Would Not Be A Rose Upon The Wall A Queen Might Stop At, Near The Palace-door, To Say To A Courtier, "pluck That Rose For Me, It's Prettier Than The Rest." O Romney Leigh! I'd Rather Far Be Trodden By His Foot, Than Lie In A Great Queen's Bosom.

God Himself Is The Best Poet, And The Real Is His Song.

I Saw, In Gradual Vision Through My Tears, The Sweet, Sad Years, The Melancholy Years, Those Of My Own Life, Who By Turns Had Flung A Shadow Across Me.

The Soul's Rialto Hath Its Merchandise, I Barter For Curl Upon That Mart.