Sweet Skepticism Of The Heart That Knows

I Held A Jewel In My Fingers And Went To Sleep. The Day Was Warm, And Winds Were Prosy; I Said: "'t Will Keep." I Woke And Chid My Honest Fingers,— The Gem Was Gone; And Now An Amethyst Remembrance Is All I Own.

Beauty Is Not Caused, It Is; Chase It And It Ceases, Chase It Not And It Abides.

Till I Loved I Never Lived.

Experiment Has A Stimulus Which Withers Its Fear.

The Distance That The Dead Have Gone Does Not At First Appear- Their Coming Back Seems Possible For Many An Ardent Year.