It Were Better To Be

Day Is A Snow-white Dove Of Heaven That From The East Glad Message Brings. Night Is A Stealthy, Evil Raven, Wrapped To The Eyes In His Black Wings.

Great Orators Who Are Not Also Great Writers Become Very Indistinct Shadows To The Generations Following Them. The Spell Vanishes With The Voice.

All The Best Sands Of My Life Are Somehow Getting Into The Wrong End Of The Hourglass. If I Could Only Reverse It! Were It In My Power To Do Sowould I?

The Young Girl In My Story Is To Be As Sensitive To Praise As A Prism Is To Light. Whenever Anybody Praises Her She Breaks Into Colors.

The Thing One Reads And Likes, And Then Forgets, Is Of No Account. The Thing That Stays, And Haunts One, And Refuses To Be Forgotten, That Is The Sincere Thing.