My Creed Is Love And You Are

I See A Lily On Thy Brow, With Anguish Moist And Fever Dew; And On Thy Cheek A Fading Rose Fast Withereth Too.

Heard Melodies Are Sweet, But Those Unheard Are Sweeter.

O Aching Time! O Moments Big As Years!

I Shall Soon Be Laid In The Quiet Grave--thank God For The Quiet Grave--o! I Can Feel The Cold Earth Upon Me--the Daisies Growing Over Me--o For This Quiet--it Will Be My First.

Thou Art A Dreaming Thing, A Fever Of Thyself.