Beauty Is Not The Cause Of Something,

When A Lover Is A Beggar Abject Is His Knee. When A Lover Is An Owner Different Is He.

Banish Air From Air Divide Light If You Dare

A Letter Always Seemed To Me Like Immortality Because It Is The Mind Alone Without Corporeal Friend.

I Died For Beauty--but Was Scarce Adjusted In The Tomb When One Who Died For Truth, Was Lain In An Adjoining Room

A Precious, Mouldering Pleasure 't Is To Meet An Antique Book In Just The Dress His Century Wore; A Privilege, I Think, His Venerable Hand To Take, And Warming In Our Own, A Passage Back, Or Two, To Make To Times When He Was Young. His Quaint Opinions To Inspect, His Knowledge To Unfold On What Concerns Our Mutual Mind, The Literature Of Old.