She died--this was the way she died; And when her breath was done, Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun. Her little figure at the gate The angels must have spied, Since I could never find her Upon the mortal side.

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.

The friend anguish reveals is the slowest forgot.

The power to console is not within corporeal reach - though its attempt is precious.

My love for those I love -- not many -- not very many, but don't I love them so?

MY river runs to thee: Blue sea, wilt welcome me? My river waits reply. Oh sea, look graciously! I ’ll fetch thee brooks From spotted nooks,— Say, sea, Take me!

Faith is a fine invention When gentlemen can see, But microscopes are prudent In an emergency.