It Is Worth While Dying, To Find

Webster Was Much Possessed By Death And Saw The Skull Beneath The Skin.

Every End Is A Beginning...and Every Beginning Is An End.

And The Lost Heart Stiffens And Rejoices In The Lost Lilac And The Lost Sea Voices And The Weak Spirit Quickens To Rebel For The Bent Golden-rod And The Lost Sea Smell Quickens To Recover.

I Am Moved By Fancies That Are Curled, Around These Images And Cling, The Notion Of Some Infinitely Gentle, Infinitely Suffering Thing.

There Is No Feeling, Except The Extremes Of Fear And Grief, That Does Not Find Relief In Music.