Those Who Have Not Found The Heaven

Our Journey Had Advanced; Our Feet Were Almost Come To That Odd Fork In Being's Road, Eternity By Term.

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 Took My Power In My Hand -- And Went Against The World -- 'twas Not So Much As David -- Had -- But I -- Was Twice As Bold -- I Aimed By Pebble -- But Myself Was All The One That Fell -- Was It Goliath -- Was Too Large -- Or Was Myself -- Too Small?

Drunkards Of Summer Are Quite As Frequent As Drunkards Of Wine.

The Soul Selects Her Own Society.