I Have Lived To Thank

Yet There Are Some Resting-places, / Life's Untroubled Interludes; / Times When Neither Past Nor Future / On The Soul's Deep Calm Intrudes.

I Don't Want To Die. But I Want To Be Dead.

How Short Our Happy Days Appear! How Long The Sorrowful!

The Moon Is Bleached As White As Wool, And Just Dropping Under; Every Star Is Gone But Three, And They Hang Far Asunder,-- There's A Sea-ghost All In Gray, A Tall Shape Of Wonder!

The Red Sahara In An Angry Glow, / With Amber Fogs, Across Its Hollows Trailed / Long Strings Of Camels, Gloomy-eyed And Slow.