Could I Love Less, I Should Be

Death, Thou Art Infinite; It Is Life Is Little.

Words Are The Motes Of Thought, And Nothing More.

I Am Tired Of Looking On What Is, One Might As Well See Beauty Never More, As Look Upon It With An Empty Eye. I Would This World Were Over. I Am Tired.

Grief Hallows Hearts, Even While It Ages Heads.

What Are Ye Orbs? The Words Of God? The Scriptures Of The Skies?