God's little Blond Blessing we have long deemed you, and hope his so-called Will will not compel him to revoke you.

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

I took my Power in my Hand -- And went against the World -- 'Twas not so much as David -- had -- But I -- was twice as bold -- I aimed by Pebble -- but Myself Was all the one that fell -- Was it Goliath -- was too large -- Or was myself -- too small?

These are the days when birds come back, a very few, a Bird or two, to take a backward look.

But a Book is only the Heart's Portrait- every Page a Pulse.

Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality. We slowly drove, he knew no haste, And I had put away My labour, and my leisure too, For his civility. We passed the school where children played, Their lessons scarcely done; We passed the fields of gazing grain, We passed the setting sun. We paused before a house that seemed A swelling of the ground; The roof was scarcely visible, The cornice but a mound. Since then 'tis centuries; but each Feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses' heads Were toward eternity.

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