My Patience Has Dreadful Chilblains From Standing

You Believe In God, For Your Part?--that He Who Makes Can Make Good Things From Ill Things, Best From Worst, As Men Plant Tulips Upon Dunghills When They Wish Them Finest.

Enough! We're Tired, My Heart And I. We Sit Beside The Headstone Thus, And Wish That Name Were Carved For Us. The Moss Reprints More Tenderly The Hard Types Of The Mason's Knife, As Heaven's Sweet Life Renews Earth's Life With Which We're Tired, My Heart And I .... 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 Loved, Used, - Well Enough, I Think, We've Fared, My Heart And I.

A Man May Love A Woman Perfectly, And Yet By No Means Ignorantly Maintain A Thousand Women Have Not Larger Eyes. Enough That She Alone Has Looked At Him With Eyes That, Large Or Small, Have Won His Soul.

It Was Not The Apple On The Tree But The Pair On The Ground That Caused The Trouble In The Garden Of Eden.

This Race Is Never Grateful: From The First, One Fills Their Cup At Supper With Pure Wine, Which Back They Give At Cross-time On A Sponge, In Bitter Vinegar.