I Would Blossom If I

Beauty In All Things-no, We Cannot Hope For That; But Some Place Set Apart For It.

She Learned Her Hands In A Fairy-tale, And Her Mouth On A Valentine.

Strange How Few, After Alls Said And Done, The Things That Are Of Moment.

For The Body At Best Is A Bundle Of Aches, Longing For Rest; It Cries When It Wakes.

I Shall Die, But That Is All That I Shall Do For Death; I Am Not On His Pay-roll.