Gather A Shell From The Strewn Beach

This Sunlight Shames November Where He Grieves In Dead Red Leaves, And Will Not Let Him Shun The Day, Though Bough With Bough Be Overrun. But With A Blessing Every Glade Receives High Salutation.

I Do Not See Them Here; But After Death God Knows I Know The Faces I Shall See, Each One A Murdered Self, With Low Last Breath. 'i Am Thyself,what Hast Thou Done To Me?' 'and Iand Ithyself,' (lo! Each One Saith,) 'and Thou Thyself To All Eternity!

The Worst Moment For The Atheist Is When He Is Really Thankful And Has Nobody To Thank.

From Perfect Grief There Need Not Bewisdom Or Even Memory;one Thing Then Learned Remains To Me -the Woodspurge Has A Cup Of Three.

Sudden Light I Have Been Here Before, But When Or How I Cannot Tell: I Know The Grass Beyond The Door, The Sweet Keen Smell, The Sighing Sound, The Light Around The Shore.