Fame Is A Bee It

The Soul Unto Itself Is An Imperial Friend, - Or The Most Agonizing Spy - An Enemy - Could Send -

Wild Nights – Wild Nights! Were I With Thee Wild Nights Should Be Our Luxury! Futile – The Winds – To A Heart In Port – Done With The Compass – Done With The Chart! Rowing In Eden – Ah, The Sea! Might I Moor – Tonight – In Thee!

Love Is Like Life-merely Longer.

Nature Is What We Know - Yet Have Not Art To Say - So Impotent Our Wisdom Is To Her Simplicity.

How Softly Summer Shuts, Without The Creaking Of A Door.