The Crime, From Us, Is Hidden, [though]

A Precious, Mouldering Pleasure 't Is, To Meet An Antique Book, In Just The Dress His Century Wore; A Privilege I Think.

The Sun Just Touched The Morning; The Morning, Happy Thing, Supposed That He Had Come To Dwell, And Life Would Be All Spring.

I Measure Every Grief I Meet With Narrow, Probing Eyes - I Wonder If It Weighs Like Mine - Or Has An Easier Size.

The Life We Have Is Very Great. The Life That We Shall See Surpasses It, We Know, Because It Is Infinity, But When All Space Has Been Beheld And All Dominion Shown The Smallest Human Heart's Extent Reduces It To None.

Will You Tell Me My Fault, Frankly As To Yourself, For I Had Rather Wince, Than Die. Men Do Not Call The Surgeon To Commend The Bone, But To Set It, Sir.