I Have Need To Busy My Heart

They Say That The Dead Die Not, But Remain Near To The Rich Heirs Of Their Grief And Mirth. I Think They Ride The Calm Mid-heaven, As These, In Wise Majestic Melancholy Train, And Watch The Moon, And The Still-raging Seas, And Men, Coming And Going On The Earth.

Down The Blue Night The Unending Columns Press In Noiseless Tumult, Break And Wave And Flow

Hearts At Peace, Under An English Heaven.

A Book May Be Compared To Your Neighbor: If It Be Good, It Cannot Last Too Long; If Bad, You Cannot Get Rid Of It Too Early.

I Thought When Love For You Died, I Should Die. It's Dead. Alone, Most Strangely, I Live On.