Till It Has Loved, No

To See The Summer Sky Is Poetry, Though Never In A Book It Lie— True Poems Flee—

The Sun Proceeds Unmoved To Measure Off Another Day For An Approving God.

The Soul Selects Her Own Society, Then Shuts The Door; On Her Divine Majority Obtrude No More.

Opinion Is A Flitting Thing But Truth Outlasts The Sun.

Mine Enemy Is Growing Old -- I Have At Last Revenge -- The Palate Of The Hate Departs -- If Any Would Avenge Let Him Be Quick -- The Viand Flits -- It Is A Faded Meat -- Anger As Soon As Fed Is Dead -- 'tis Starving Makes It Fat