Ants Are A Curious Race

Tree At My Window, Window Tree, My Sash Is Lowered When Night Comes On; But Let There Never Be Curtain Drawn Between You And Me.

One Age Is Like Another For The Soul.

Possessing What We Still Were Unpossessed By, Possessed By What We Now No More Possessed.

End Is A Gloomy Word.

(soft Petals, Yes, But Not So Barren Quite, Mingled With These, Smooth Bean And Wrinkled Pea;) And Go Along With You Ere You Lose Sight Of What You Came For And Become Like Me, Slave To A Springtime Passion For The Earth. How Love Burns Through The Putting In The Seed On Through The Watching For That Early Birth When, Just As The Soil Tarnishes With Weed, The Sturdy Seedling With Arched Body Comes Shouldering Its Way And Shedding The Earth Crumbs.