The soul selects her own society, Then shuts the door; On her divine majority Obtrude no more.

Apparently with no surprise To any happy Flower The Frost beheads it at its play -- In accidental power -- The blonde Assassin passes on -- The Sun proceeds unmoved To measure off another Day For an Approving God.

Tis not that dieing hurts us so- tis living- hurts us more.

Some Arrows slay but whom they strike - But this slew all but him - Who so appareled his Escape - Too trackless for a Tomb

Hold dear to your parents for it is a scary and confusing world without them.

We never know how high we are till we are called to rise. Then if we are true to form our statures touch the skies.

To die before one fears to die may be a boon.