The Soul Selects Her Own Society.

Existence Has Overpowered Books. Today I Slew A Mushroom.

Then, As Horizons Step, Or Noons Report Away,without The Formula Of Sound, It Passes, And We Stay:a Quality Of Loss Affecting Our Content.

I Dwell In Possiblities.

Some Arrows Slay But Whom They Strike - But This Slew All But Him - Who So Appareled His Escape - Too Trackless For A Tomb

The Morning After Woe- Tis Frequently The Way- Surpasses All That Rose Before- For Utter Jubilee-.