And The Guelder Rose In A Great

When Our Thoughts Are Born, Though They Be Good And Humble, One Should Mind How They Are Reared, Or Some Will Go Astray And Shame Their Mother.

Children Bring Their Own Love With Them When They Come.

The Red Sahara In An Angry Glow, / With Amber Fogs, Across Its Hollows Trailed / Long Strings Of Camels, Gloomy-eyed And Slow.

And Old Affront Will Stir The Heart Through Years Of Rankling Pain.

I Don't Want To Die. But I Want To Be Dead.