Opinion Is A Flitting Thing But Truth

Angels In The Early Morning May Be Seen The Dews Among. Stooping, Plucking, Smiling, Flying. Do The Buds To Them Belong?

Elysium Is As Far As To The Very Nearest Room, If In That Room A Friend Await Felicity Of Doom.

Till The First Friend Dies, We Think Our Ecstasy Impersonal, But Then Discover That He Was The Cup From Which We Drank It, Itself As Yet Unknown.

Affection Is Like Bread, Unnoticed Till We Starve, And Then We Dream Of It, And Sing Of It, And Paint It, When Every Urchin In The Street Has More Than He Can Eat.

I Stepped From Plank To Plank A Slow And Cautious Way