Forever Is Made Up Of Nows.

Hope Is A Strange Invention - A Patent Of The Heart - In Unremitting Action Yet Never Wearing Out

Proud Of My Broken Heart Since Thou Didst Break It, Proud Of The Pain I Did Not Feel Till Thee, Proud Of My Night Since Thou With Moons Dost Slake It, Not To Partake Thy Passion, My Humility.

Which Anguish Was The Utterest--then-- To Perish, Or To Live?

My Life Closed Twice Before Its Close

Beauty Crowds Me Till I Die.