Oh, The Little More, And How Much

That We Devote Ourselves To God, Is Seen In Living Just As Though No God There Were.

There Is Nothing So Unpardonable As To Consent To A Senseless, Aimless, Purposeless Life.

Lost, Lost! One Moment Knelled The Woe Of Years.

'tis Only When They Spring To Heaven That Angels Reveal Themselves To You.

That Moment She Was Mine, Mine, Fair, Perfectly Pure And Good: I Found A Thing To Do, And All Her Hair In One Long Yellow String I Wound Three Times Her Little Throat Around, And Strangled Her. No Pain Felt She; I Am Quite Sure She Felt No Pain. As A Shut Bud That Holds A Bee, I Warily Oped Her Lids: Again Laughed The Blue Eyes Without A Stain. And I Untightened The Next Tress About Her Neck; Her Cheek Once More Blushed Bright Beneath My Burning Kiss . . .