Dame Poverty Gave Me My Name, And

The Night Whose Sable Breast Relieves The Stark, White Stars, Is No Less Lovely Being Dark

What Is Last Year's Snow To Me, Last Year's Anything? The Tree Budding Yearly Must Forget How Its Past Arose Or Set

I Have A Rendezvous With Life.

The Loss Of Love Is A Terrible Thing; They Lie Who Say That Death Is Worse.

I Was Reared In The Conservative Atmosphere Of A Methodist Parsonage.