You cannot put a fire out! A thing that can ignite can go itself- without a flame- E'en through the darkest night!

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

Mirth is the Mail of Anguish --

Drunkards of summer are quite as frequent as Drunkards of wine.

Vinnie rocks her Garden and moans that God won't help her. I suppose he is too busy getting angry with the Wicked every day.

There's a certain slant of light, On winter afternoons, That oppresses, like the weight Of cathedral tunes.