Dying Is A Wild Night And A

To See Her Is A Picture- To Hear Her Is A Tune- To Know Her An Intemperance As Innocent As June- To Know Her Not-affliction- To Own Her For A Friend A Warmth As Near As If The The Sun Were Shining In Your Hand.

A Dominie In Gray-- Put Gently Up The Evening Bars-- And Led The Flock Away

The Lovely Flowers Embarrass Me. They Make Me Regret I Am Not A Bee.

I Had No Monarch In My Life, And Cannot Rule Myself; And When I Try To Organize, My Little Force Explodes And Leaves Me Bare And Charred.

Proud Of My Broken Heart Since Thou Didst Break It, Proud Of The Pain I Did Not Feel Till Thee, Proud Of My Night Since Thou With Moons Dost Slake It, Not To Partake Thy Passion, My Humility.