If You Become A Nun,

Green Little Vaulter, In The Sunny Grass, Catching Your Heart Up At The Feel Of June, Sole Noise That's Heard Amidst The Lazy Noon, When Ev'n The Bees Lag At The Summoning Brass.

Oh For A Seat In Some Poetic Nook, Just Hid With Trees And Sparkling With A Brook!

Part Of Our Good Consists In The Endeavor To Do Sorrows Away, And In The Power To Sustain Them When The Endeavor Fails,--to Bear Them Nobly, And Thus Help Others To Bear Them As Well.

I Entrench Myself In My Books Equally Against Sorrow And The Weather.

Write Me As One Who Loves His Fellow Men.