Yet What Are All Such Gaieties To

You Used To Be Much More..."muchier." You've Lost Your Muchness.

Tis A Secret: None Knows How It Comes, How It Goes: But The Name Of The Secret Is Love!

The Sun Was Shining On The Sea, Shining With All His Might: He Did His Very Best To Make The Billows Smooth And Bright-- And This Was Odd, Because It Was The Middle Of The Night.

There Ought To Be A Book Written About Me, That There Ought!

You Won't Make Yourself A Bit Realer By Crying.