We turn not older with years but newer every day.

Mine Enemy is growing old -- I have at last Revenge -- The Palate of the Hate departs -- If any would avenge Let him be quick -- the Viand flits -- It is a faded Meat -- Anger as soon as fed is dead -- 'Tis starving makes it fat

Noon - is the Hinge of Day-.

Somewhere in my soul a thought went up in my mind today that I have had before, but did not finish, some way back, I could not fix the year. Nor where it went, nor why it came the second time to me, nor definetly what it was, have I the art to say. But somewhere in my soul, I know I've met the thing before; it just reminded me-' twas all'-and came my way no more.

Mirth is the Mail of Anguish --

The brain is wider than the sky, For, put them side by side, The one the other will include With ease, and you beside.

Much Madness is Divinest Sense, to a Discerning Eye.