The Past Is Such A Curious Creature

Nature Is A Haunted House--but Art--is A House That Tries To Be Haunted.

My Love For Those I Love -- Not Many -- Not Very Many, But Don't I Love Them So?

Narcotics Cannot Still The Tooth. That Nibbles At The Soul

Faith—is The Pierless Bridge Supporting What We See Unto The Scene That We Do Not— Too Slender For The Eye It Bears The Soul As Bold As It Were Rocked In Steel With Arms Of Steel At Either Side— It Joins—behind The Veil To What, Could We Presume The Bridge Would Cease To Be To Our Far, Vacillating Feet A First Necessity.

Because I Could Not Stop For Death, He Kindly Stopped For Me; The Carriage Held But Just Ourselves And Immortality. We Slowly Drove, He Knew No Haste, And I Had Put Away My Labour, And My Leisure Too, For His Civility. We Passed The School Where Children Played, Their Lessons Scarcely Done; We Passed The Fields Of Gazing Grain, We Passed The Setting Sun. We Paused Before A House That Seemed A Swelling Of The Ground; The Roof Was Scarcely Visible, The Cornice But A Mound. Since Then 'tis Centuries; But Each Feels Shorter Than The Day I First Surmised The Horses' Heads Were Toward Eternity.