The lovely flowers embarrass me. They make me regret I am not a bee.
Till it has loved, no man or woman can become itself.
Opinion is a fitting thing but truth outlasts the sun - if then we cannot own them both, possess the oldest one.
I work to drive the awe away, yet awe impels the work.
I felt it shelter to speak to you.
My Life had stood - a Loaded Gun - In Corners - till a Day The Owner passed - identified - And carried Me away -