My! Ain't Men Blinder'n Moles?

In My Stiff, Brocaded Gown. With My Powdered Hair And Jeweled Fan, I Too Am A Rare Pattern.

My Words Are Little Jars For You To Take And Put Upon A Shelf. Their Shapes Are Quaint And Beautiful, And They Have Many Pleasant Colours And Lustres To Recommend Them. Also The Scent From Them Fills The Room With Sweetness Of Flowers And Crushed Grasses.

If What We Worship Fail Us, Still The Fire Burns On, And It Is Much To Have Believed.

Poetry, Far More Than Fiction, Reveals The Soul Of Humanity.

When I Go Away From You The World Beats Dead Like A Slackened Drum.