Enough is so vast a sweetness I suppose it never occurs.

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

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

When he tells us about his Father, we distrust him. When he shows us his Home, we turn away, but when he confides to us that he is acquainted with grief, we listen, for that also is an acquaintance of our own.

If Aims impel these Astral Ones The ones allowed to know Know that which makes them as forgot As Dawn forgets them now

One need not be a chamber to be haunted.

Tell all the Truth, but tell it slant/Success in Circuit lies.