Yet How Proud We Are, In Daring

There's Nothing Great Nor Small, Has Said A Poet Of Our Day, Whose Voice Will Ring Beyond The Curfew Of Eve And Not Be Thrown Out By The Matin's Bell.

I Have Done Most Of My Talking By Post Of Late Years--as People Shut Up In Dungeons Take Up With Scrawling Mottoes On The Walls.

Love Me Sweet With All Thou Art Feeling, Thinking, Seeing; Love Me In The Lightest Part, Love Me In Full Being.

Life, Struck Sharp On Death, Makes Awful Lightning.

The Charm, One Might Say The Genius, Of Memory Is That It Is Choosy, Chancy And Temperamental.