I had been hungry all the years- My noon had come, to dine- I, trembling, drew the table near And touched the curious wine. 'Twas this on tables I had seen When turning, hungry, lone, I looked in windows, for the wealth I could not hope to own. I did not know the ample bread, 'Twas so unlike the crumb The birds and I had often shared In Nature's diningroom. The plenty hurt me, 'twas so new,-- Myself felt ill and odd, As berry of a mountain bush Transplanted to the road. Nor was I hungry; so I found That hunger was a way Of persons outside windows, The entering takes away.

The poet lights the light and fades away. But the light goes on and on.

Write me of hope and love, and hearts that endured.

... I have no letter from the dead, yet daily love them more.

I would like more sisters, that the taking out of one, might not leave such stillness.

Expectation is contentment - Gain satiety.

The pedigree of honey does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him is aristocracy.