Good times are always mutual; that is what makes good times.
These are the days when birds come back, a very few, a Bird or two, to take a backward look.
A Word that Breathes Distinctly Has not the Power to Die
I felt a Cleaving in my Mind- As if my Brain had split- I tried to match it- Seam by Seam- But could not make it fit.
The Crime, from us, is hidden, [though] he is presumed to know.
The lovely flowers embarrass me. They make me regret I am not a bee.