The Truth must dazzle gradually or every man be blind.

Some keep the Sabbath going to church, I keep it staying at home, with a bobolink for a chorister, and an orchard for a dome.

The appetite for silence is seldom an acquired taste.

I wonder if it hurts to live, And if they have to try, And whether, could they choose between, They would not rather die.

Heart, we will forget him, You and I, tonight! You must forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light.

If Aims impel these Astral Ones The ones allowed to know Know that which makes them as forgot As Dawn forgets them now

Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I've heard it in the chilliest land And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me.