Every Man Has His Secret

Some Poems Are Like The Centaurs--a Mingling Of Man And Beast, And Begotten Of Ixion On A Cloud.

O Lovely Eyes Of Azure, Clear As The Waters Of A Brook That Run Limpid And Laughing In The Summer Sun!

All Things Come Round To Him Who Will But Wait.

A Single Conversation Across The Table With A Wise Man Is Better Than Ten Years Mere Study Of Books.

Death Is The Chillness That Precedes The Dawn; We Shudder For A Moment, Then Awake In The Broad Sunshine Of The Other Life.