The Plague Of Gold Strikes

The Charm, One Might Say The Genius, Of Memory Is That It Is Choosy, Chancy And Temperamental.

She Lived, We'll Say, A Harmless Life, She Called A Virtuous Life, A Quiet Life, Which Was Not Life At All (but That She Had Not Lived Enough To Know)

In This Abundant Earth No Doubt Is Little Room For Things Worn Out: Disdain Them, Break Them, Throw Them By! And If Before The Days Grew Rough We Once Were Lov'd, Us'd -- Well Enough, I Think, We've Far'd, My Heart And I.

A Woman's Pity Sometimes Makes Her Mad.

I Love Thee With The Passion Put To Use In My Old Griefs, And With My Childhood's Faith. I Love Thee With A Love I Seemed To Lose With My Lost Saints,-i Love Thee With The Breath, Smiles, Tears, Of All My Life!-and, If God Choose, I Shall But Love Thee Better After Death.