Till It Has Loved, No Man Or

Afraid? Of Whom Am I Afraid? Not Death. For Who Is He?

The Distance That The Dead Have Gone Does Not At First Appear- Their Coming Back Seems Possible For Many An Ardent Year.

A Precious, Mouldering Pleasure 't Is, To Meet An Antique Book, In Just The Dress His Century Wore; A Privilege I Think.

Bring Me The Sunset In A Cup.

The Truth I Do Not Dare To Know I Muffle With A Jest.