I think Heaven will not be as good as earth, unless it bring with it that sweet power to remember, which is the staple of Heaven here.

The lovely flowers embarrass me. They make me regret I am not a bee.

He fumbles at your spirit As players at the keys Before they drop full music on; He stuns you by degrees. Prepares your brittle substance For the ethereal blow by fainter hammers, further heard, Then nearer, then so slow Your breath has time to straighten Your brain to bubble cool,- Deals one imperial thunderbolt That scalps your naked soul.

We outgrow love like other things and put it in a drawer, till it an antique fashion shows like costumes grandsires wore.

Till it has loved, no man or woman can become itself.

AMPLE make this bed. Make this bed with awe; In it wait till judgment break Excellent and fair. Be its mattress straight, Be its pillow round; Let no sunrise’ yellow noise Interrupt this ground.

I stepped from plank to plank So slow and cautiously; The stars about my head I felt, About my feet the sea. I knew not but the next Would be my final inch,— This gave me that precarious gait Some call experience.