Forever is made up of nows.

My best Acquaintances are those With Whom I spoke no Word

Mine Enemy is growing old -- I have at last Revenge -- The Palate of the Hate departs -- If any would avenge Let him be quick -- the Viand flits -- It is a faded Meat -- Anger as soon as fed is dead -- 'Tis starving makes it fat

The power to console is not within corporeal reach - though its attempt is precious.

She died--this was the way she died; And when her breath was done, Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun. Her little figure at the gate The angels must have spied, Since I could never find her Upon the mortal side.

That love is all there is, Is all we know of love.

Grant me, O Lord, a sunny mind-Thy windy will to bear!