When we think of his lone effort to live and its bleak reward, the mind turns to the myth "for His mercy endureth forever," with confiding revulsion.

The lovely flowers embarrass me. They make me regret I am not a bee.

Love is like life-merely longer.

Faith is a fine invention When gentlemen can see, But microscopes are prudent In an emergency.

Knew I how to pray, to intercede for your [broken] Foot were intuitive - but I am but a Pagan.

That no Flake of [snow] fall on you or them - is a wish that would be a Prayer, were Emily not a Pagan.

This is my letter to the world That never wrote to me