I Cannot Live With You, It Would

Till The First Friend Dies, We Think Our Ecstasy Impersonal, But Then Discover That He Was The Cup From Which We Drank It, Itself As Yet Unknown.

Longing, It May Be, Is The Gift No Other Gift Supplies.

The Dearest Ones Of Time, The Strongest Friends Of The Soul--books.

I Dwell In Possibility A Fairer House Than Prose More Numerous Of Windows Superior--for Doors Of Chambers As The Cedars Impregnable Of Eye And For An Everlasting Roof The Gambrels Of The Sky Of Visitors--the Fairest For Occupation--this The Spreading Wide My Narrow Hands To Gather Paradise

I Don't Profess To Be Profound; But I Do Lay Claim To Common Sense.