The possible's slow fuse is lit by the Imagination.

When a Lover is a Beggar Abject is his Knee. When a Lover is an Owner Different is he.

I am nobody! Who are you? Are you a nobody, too?

I am out with lanterns, looking for myself.

My Life had stood - a Loaded Gun - In Corners - till a Day The Owner passed - identified - And carried Me away -

Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I've heard it in the chilliest land And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me.

Forever is comprised of nows.