The Pleading Of The Summer - That

The Abdication Of Belief Makes The Behavior Small- Better An Ignis Fatuus Than No Illume At All.

I Had A Terror-since September -i Could Tell To None-and So I Sing, As The Boy Does By The Burying Ground-because I Am Afraid.

Morning Without You Is A Dwindled Dawn.

He Fumbles At Your Spirit As Players At The Keys Before They Drop Full Music On; He Stuns You By Degrees. Prepares Your Brittle Substance For The Ethereal Blow By Fainter Hammers, Further Heard, Then Nearer, Then So Slow Your Breath Has Time To Straighten Your Brain To Bubble Cool,- Deals One Imperial Thunderbolt That Scalps Your Naked Soul.

I Am Nobody! Who Are You? Are You A Nobody, Too?