Love is its own rescue; for we, at our supremest, are but its trembling emblems.

To lose what we have never owned might seem an eccentric bereavement, but Presumption has its own affliction as well as claim.

This is my letter to the world That never wrote to me

I do not feel I could give up all for Christ, were I called to die.

Witchcraft was hung, in History, But History and I Find all the Witchcraft that we need Around us, every Day -

Just a turn of the doorknob, and there lies freedom.

Apparently with no surprise To any happy Flower The Frost beheads it at its play -- In accidental power -- The blonde Assassin passes on -- The Sun proceeds unmoved To measure off another Day For an Approving God.