There, That Is Our Secret:

I Should Not Dare To Call My Soul My Own.

Death Forerunneth Love To Win "sweetest Eyes Were Ever Seen."

Very Whitely Still The Lilies Of Our Lives May Reassure Their Blossoms From Their Roots, Accessible Alone To Heavenly Dews That Drop Not Fewer; Growing Straight Out Of Man's Reach, On The Hill. God Only, Who Made Us Rich, Can Make Us Poor.

The Least Flower, With Brimming Cup, May Stand And Share Its Dew Drop With Another Near.

Books Are Men Of Higher Stature, And The Only Men That Speak Aloud For Future Times To Hear.