Noon - Is The Hinge Of Day-.

Tis Not That Dieing Hurts Us So- Tis Living- Hurts Us More.

There's A Certain Slant Of Light, On Winter Afternoons, That Oppresses, Like The Weight Of Cathedral Tunes.

I Don't Profess To Be Profound; But I Do Lay Claim To Common Sense.

That Love Is All There Is, Is All We Know Of Love.

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.