Advance Our Standards, Set Upon

That Is The Way To Lay The City Flat, To Bring The Roof To The Foundation, And Bury All, Which Yet Distinctly Ranges, In Heaps And Piles Of Ruin.

My Dull Brain Was Wrought With Things Forgotten.

Hung Be The Heavens With Black! Yield, Day, To Night!

We Bring Forth Weeds When Our Quick Minds Lie Still.

I Love Thee, I Love Thee With A Love That Shall Not Die. Till The Sun Grows Cold And The Stars Grow Old.