Night falls fast. Today is in the past.

You are loved. If so, what else matters?

Summer set lip to earth's bosom bare, And left the flushed print in a poppy there. I will touch a hundred flowers And not pick one.

Under my head till morning; but the rain, Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh, Upon the glass and listen for reply.

If I could have two things in one: the peace of the grave, and the light of the sun.

Although we sometimes did without a few of life's necessities, we rarely lacked for its luxuries.

So up I got in anger, And took a book I had, And put a ribbon on my hair To please a passing lad. And, "One thing there's no getting by -- I've been a wicked girl," said I; But if I can't be sorry, why, I might as well be glad!