If Your Nerve, Deny You

The Heart Asks Pleasure First, And Then, Excuse From Pain; And Then, Those Little Anodynes That Deaden Suffering; And Then, To Go To Sleep; And Then, If It Should Be The Will Of Its Inquisitor, The Liberty To Die.

The Service Without Hope Is Tenderest, I Think-- ... There Is No Diligence Like That That Knows Not An Until

September's Baccalaureate A Combination Is Of Crickets - Crows - And Retrospects And A Dissembling Breeze That Hints Without Assuming - An Innuendo Sear That Makes The Heart Put Up Its Fun And Turn Philosopher.

Immortal Is An Ample Word When What We Need Is By, But When It Leaves Us For A Time, 'tis A Necessity.

Then, As Horizons Step, Or Noons Report Away,without The Formula Of Sound, It Passes, And We Stay:a Quality Of Loss Affecting Our Content.