Then Felt I Like Some Watcher Of

Joy, Whose Hand Is Ever At His Lips, Bidding Adieu

The Roaring Of The Wind Is My Wife And The Stars Through The Window Pane Are My Children. The Mighty Abstract Idea I Have Of Beauty In All Things Stifles The More Divided And Minute Domestic Happiness.

I Could Be Martyred For My Religion. Love Is My Religion And I Could Die For That. I Could Die For You.

Already With Thee! Tender Is The Night. . . But Here There Is No Light. . .

Tall Oaks Branch Charmed By The Earnest Stars Dream And So Dream All Night Without A Stir.