How Strange Now, Looks The Life He

Hatred And Cark And Care, What Place Have They / In Yon Blue Liberality Of Heaven?.

Outside Are The Storms And Strangers: We — Oh, Close, Safe, Warm Sleep I And She, — I And She!

Who Knows But The World May End Tonight

All Good Things Are Ours, Nor Soul Helps Flesh More, Now, Than Flesh Helps Soul!

How Well I Know What I Mean To Do When The Long Dark Autumn Evenings Come, And Where, My Soul, Is Thy Pleasant Hue? With The Music Of All Thy Voices, Dumb In Life’s November Too! I Shall Be Found By The Fire, Suppose, O’er A Great Wise Book As Beseemeth Age, While The Shutters Flap As The Cross-wind Blows, And I Turn The Page, And I Turn The Page, Not Verse Now, Only Prose!