To shut your eyes is to travel.

How frugal is the chariot that bears a human soul.

The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth,-- The sweeping up the heart, And putting love away We shall not want to use again Until eternity

Anger as soon as fed is dead- 'Tis starving makes it fat.

The truth I do not dare to know I muffle with a jest.

They say that “Time assuages” - Time never did assuage - An actual suffering strengthens As Sinews do, with age - Time is a Test of Trouble - But not a Remedy - If such it prove, it prove too There was no Malady

I would like more sisters, that the taking out of one, might not leave such stillness.