Initial Of Creation, And The Exponent Of

Pain - Has An Element Of Blank It Cannot Recollect When It Begun - Or If There Were A Time When It Was Not - It Has No Future - But Itself - Its Infinite Contain Its Past - Enlightened To Perceive New Periods - Of Pain.

To Shut Your Eyes Is To Travel.

There Is Always One Thing To Be Grateful For - That One Is One's Self And Not Somebody Else.

I . . . Am Small, Like The Wren, And My Hair Is Bold Like The Chestnut Burr; And My Eyes Like The Sherry In The Glass That The Guest Leaves.

To See The Summer Sky Is Poetry, Though Never In A Book It Lie— True Poems Flee—