The dearest ones of time, the strongest friends of the soul--BOOKS.

Portrait The world spreads out on either side no farther than the heart is wide.

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 happy is the little stone That rambles in the road alone, And doesn't care about careers, And exigencies never fears; Whose coat of elemental brown A passing universe put on; And independent as the sun, Associates or glows alone, Fulfilling absolute decree In casual simplicity.

We outgrow love like other things and put it in a drawer, till it an antique fashion shows like costumes grandsires wore.

I think Heaven will not be as good as earth, unless it bring with it that sweet power to remember, which is the staple of Heaven here.

'Arcturus' is his other name- I'd rather call him 'Star.' It's very mean of Science To go and interfere!