I Know Some Lonely Houses

We Both Believe, And Disbelieve A Hundred Times An Hour, Which Keeps Believing Nimble.

I Am One Of The Lingering Bad Ones, And So Do I Slink Away, And Pause, And Ponder, And Ponder, And Pause, And Do Work Without Knowing Why - Not Surely For This Brief World, And More Sure It Is Not For Heaven - And I Ask What This Message Of Christ Means.

The Spider As An Artist Has Never Been Employed- Though His Surpassing Merit Is Freely Certified.

Saying Nothing... Sometimes Says The Most.

Besides The Autumn Poets Sing, A Few Prosaic Days, A Little This Side Of The Snow, And That Side Of The Haze..., Grant Me, Oh Lord, A Sunny Mind- Thy Windy Will To Bear!