The Lovely Flowers Embarrass Me. They Make

If Aims Impel These Astral Ones The Ones Allowed To Know Know That Which Makes Them As Forgot As Dawn Forgets Them Now

Besides The Autumn Poets Sing, A Few Prosaic Days, A Little This Side Of The Snow, And That Side Of The Haze..., Grant Me, Oh Lord, A Sunny Mind- Thy Windy Will To Bear!

I Know Nothing In The World That Has As Much Power As A Word. Sometimes I Write One, And I Look At It, Until It Begins To Shine.

Fortune Befriends The Bold.

Enough Is So Vast A Sweetness I Suppose It Never Occurs.