Mirth Is The Mail Of Anguish --

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.

I Lost A World The Other Day. Has Anybody Found? You'll Know It By The Rows Of Stars Around It's Forehead Bound. A Rich Man Might Not Notice It; Yet To My Frugal Eye Of More Esteem Than Ducats. Oh! Find It, Sir, For Me!

The Brain Is Wider Than The Sky, For, Put Them Side By Side, The One The Other Will Include With Ease, And You Beside.

Hope Is A Thing With Feathers

Beauty Crowds Me Till I Die.