Hell Is More Bearable Than

The Truth Of Truths Is Love.

A Poet Not In Love Is Out At Sea; He Must Have A Lay-figure.

Music Tells No Truths.

Thou Art A Woman, And That Is Saying The Best And Worst Of Thee.

The Death-change Comes. Death Is Another Life. We Bow Our Heads At Going Out, We Think, And Enter Straight Another Golden Chamber Of The King's Larger Than This We Leave, And Lovelier. And Then In Shadowy Glimpses, Disconnect, The Story, Flower-like, Closes Thus Its Leaves. The Will Of God Is All In All. He Makes, Destroys, Remakes, For His Own Pleasure, All.