...for Her Whom In Life

A Dirge For Her The Doubly Dead In That She Died So Young.

The Nose Of A Mob Is Its Imagination. By This, At Any Time, It Can Be Quietly Led.

In Beauty Of Face No Maiden Ever Equaled Her. It Was The Radiance Of An Opium-dream - An Airy And Spirit-lifting Vision More Wildly Divine Than The Fantasies Which Hovered About The Slumbering Souls Of The Daughters Of Delos.

In The Marginalia ... We Talk Only To Ourselves; We Therefore Talk Freshly - Boldly - Originally - With Abandonment - Without Conceit.

True! - Nervous - Very, Very Nervous I Had Been And Am; But Why Will You Say That I Am Mad?