This is the Hour of Lead- Remembered, if outlived, As freezing persons, recollect the Snow- First-Chill-then Stupor- then the letting go---

The Things that never can come back, are several - Childhood - some forms of Hope - the Dead.

Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.

Sunrise: day's great progenitor.

I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea; Yet know I how the heather looks, And what a wave must be. I never spoke with God, Nor visited in Heaven; Yet certain am I of the spot, As if a chart were given.

Bring me the sunset in a cup.

Nature is a haunted house--but Art--is a house that tries to be haunted.