I have an appetite for silence.

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

I tasted life.

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.

A power of Butterfly must be - The Aptitude to fly Meadows of Majesty concedes And easy Sweeps of Sky -

Time is short and full, like an outgrown Frock - .

How frugal is the chariot that bears a human soul.