The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth,-- The sweeping up the heart, And putting love away We shall not want to use again Until eternity

A charm invests a face Imperfectly beheld,— The lady dare not lift her veil For fear it be dispelled. But peers beyond her mesh, And wishes, and denies,— Lest interview annul a want That image satisfies.

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

I am nobody! Who are you? Are you a nobody, too?

Nothing more do I ask than to share with you the ecstasy and sacrament of my life.

The minister today preached about death and judgment, and what would become of those who behaved improperly - and somehow it scared me. He preached such an awful sermon I didn't think I should ever see you again until the Judgment Day. The subject of perdition seemed to please him somehow.

I dwell in possibilities... a fairer house than prose.