From Perfect Grief There Need Not Bewisdom

It Is Beautiful, The World, And Life Itself. I Am Glad I Have Lived.

Love Is The Last Relay And Ultimate Outposts Of Eternity.

I Am Not As These Are, The Poet Saithin Youth's Pride, And The Painter, Among Menat Bay, Where Never Pencil Comes Nor Pem

You Have Been Mine Before - How Long Ago I May Not Know: But Just When At That Swallow's Soar, Your Neck Turned So, Some Veil Did Fall, - I Knew It All Of Yore.

This Sunlight Shames November Where He Grieves In Dead Red Leaves, And Will Not Let Him Shun The Day, Though Bough With Bough Be Overrun. But With A Blessing Every Glade Receives High Salutation.