Half The World Is Composed

The Trees That Have It In Their Pent-up Buds To Darken Nature And Be Summer Woods.

Only Where Love And Need Are One, And The Work Is Play For Mortal Stakes Is The Deed Ever Truly Done For Heaven And The Future's Sakes

I Have Wished A Bird Would Fly Away, And Not Sing By My House All Day.

The Chance Is The Remotest, Of Its Going Much Longer Unnoticed, That I'm Not Keeping Pace With The Headlong Human Race

There Are Three Things, After All, That A Poem Must Reach: The Eye, The Ear, And What We May Call The Heart Or The Mind. It Is The Most Important Of All To Reach The Heart Of The Reader.