She is happy where she lies With the dust upon her eyes.

To a Young Poet Time cannot break the bird's wing from the bird. Bird and wing together Go down, one feather. No thing that ever flew, Not the lark, not you, Can die as others do.

Curse thee, Life, I will live with thee no more! Thou hast mocked me, starved me, beat my body sore! And all for a pledge that was not pledged by me, I have kissed thy crust and eaten sparingly That I might eat again, and met thy sneers With deprecations, and thy blows with tears.

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

This book, when I am dead, will be A little faint perfume of me. People who knew me well will say, She really used to think that way.

There is no shelter in you anywhere.

After the feet of beauty fly my own.