Not 'revelation'-'tis That Waits/ But Our Unfurnished

The Bustle In A House The Morning After Death Is Solemnest Of Industries Enacted Upon Earth,-- The Sweeping Up The Heart, And Putting Love Away We Shall Not Want To Use Again Until Eternity

The Sweets Of Pillage Can Be Known To No One But The Thief, Compassion For Integrity Is His Divinest Grief.

I Like A Look Of Agony, Because I Know It's True - Men Do Not Sham Convulsion, Nor Simulate, A Throe

Longing, It May Be, Is The Gift No Other Gift Supplies.

Tell All The Truth, But Tell It Slant/success In Circuit Lies.