Sunrise: Day's Great Progenitor.

The Soul Selects Her Own Society, Then Shuts The Door; On Her Divine Majority Obtrude No More.

We Trust In Plumed Procession For Such The Angels Go Rank After Rank, With Even Feet/and Uniforms Of Snow.

My Business Is Circumference.

Nothing More Do I Ask Than To Share With You The Ecstasy And Sacrament Of My Life.

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