A Grave Is Such A Quiet Place.

To What Purpose, April, Do You Return Again? Beauty Is Not Enough.

I Had A Little Sorrow, Born Of A Little Sin.

I Shall Die, But That Is All That I Shall Do For Death; I Am Not On His Pay-roll.

He That Would Eat Of Love Must Eat It Where It Hangs.

But You, You Foolish Girl, You Have Gone Home To A Leaky Castle Across The Sea To Lie Awake In Linen Smelling Of Lavender, And Hear The Nightingale, And Long For Me.