After The Feet Of Beauty Fly My

Heap Not On This Mound Roses That She Loved So Well; Why Bewilder Her With Roses That She Cannot See Or Smell.

And All The Loveliest Things There Be Come Simply, So It Seems To Me.

Dust In An Urn Long Since, Dispersed And Dead Is Great Apollo; And The Happier He

It's Not Love's Going Hurts My Days But That It Went In Little Ways.

I Love Humanity But I Hate People.