You Are Loved. If So, What Else

Blessed Be Death, That Cuts In Marble What Would Have Sunk To Dust!

Night Falls Fast. Today Is In The Past. Blown From The Dark Hill Hither To My Door Three Flakes, Then Four Arrive, Then Many More.

It's Not Love's Going Hurts My Days But That It Went In Little Ways.

We Were So Wholly One I Had Not Thought That We Could Die Apart. I Had Not Thought That I Could Move,—and You Be Stiff And Still! That I Could Speak,—and You Perforce Be Dumb! I Think Our Heart-strings Were, Like Warp And Woof In Some Firm Fabric, Woven In And Out; Your Golden Filaments In Fair Design Across My Duller Fibre.

Euclid Alone Has Looked On Beauty Bare. Let All Who Prate Of Beauty Hold Their Peace, And Lay Them Prone Upon The Earth And Cease To Ponder On Themselves, The While They Stare At Nothing, Intricately Drawn Nowhere.