Beauty Crowds Me Till I Die.

I Dwell In Possibilities... A Fairer House Than Prose.

Those Who Lift Their Hats Shall See Nature As Devout Do God.

You Cannot Fold A Flood And Put It In A Drawer, Because The Winds Would Find It Out And Tell Your Cedar Floor.

To Fight Aloud, Is Very Brave— But Gallanter, I Know Who Charge Within The Bosom The Cavalry Of Wo— Who Win, And Nations Do Not See— Who Fall — And None Observe — Whose Dying Eyes, No Country Regards With Patriot Love— We Trust, In Plumed Procession For Such, The Angels Go— Rank After Rank, With Even Feet— And Uniforms Of Snow.

Longing Is Like A Seed That Wrestles In The Ground