Mark! Where His Carnage And His Conquests

Oh That The Desert Were My Dwelling-place, With One Fair Spirit For My Minister

The Place Is Very Well And Quiet And The Children Only Scream In A Low Voice.

I Love The Language, It Sounds As If It Should Be Writ On Satin With Syllables Which Breathe Of The Sweet South

I Only Go Out To Get Me A Fresh Appetite For Being Alone.

I Live Not In Myself, But I Become Portion Of That Around Me: And To Me High Mountains Are A Feeling, But The Hum Of Human Cities Torture.