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

Life is a spell so exquisite that everything conspires to break it.

The Spirit lurks within the Flesh Like Tides within the Sea That make the Water live, estranged What would the Either be?

I dwell in possibilities... a fairer house than prose.

We do not play on Graves— Because there isn't Room— Besides—it isn't even—it slants And People come— And put a Flower on it— And hang their faces so— We're fearing that their Hearts will drop— And crush our pretty play— And so we move as far As Enemies—away— Just looking round to see how far It is—Occasionally—

How very sad it is to have a confiding nature, one's hopes and feelings are quite at the mercy of all who come along; and how very desirable to be a stolid individual, whose hopes and aspirations are safe in one's waistcoat pocket, and that a pocket indeed, and one not to be picked!

Those who lift their hats shall see Nature as devout do God.