Somewhere in my soul a thought went up in my mind today that I have had before, but did not finish, some way back, I could not fix the year. Nor where it went, nor why it came the second time to me, nor definetly what it was, have I the art to say. But somewhere in my soul, I know I've met the thing before; it just reminded me-' twas all'-and came my way no more.

We do not play on Graves— Because there isn't Room— Besides—it isn't even—it slants And People come— And put a Flower on it— And hang their faces so— We're fearing that their Hearts will drop— And crush our pretty play— And so we move as far As Enemies—away— Just looking round to see how far It is—Occasionally—

Faith is a fine invention When gentlemen can see, But microscopes are prudent In an emergency.

But a Book is only the Heart's Portrait- every Page a Pulse.

I hope your rambles have been sweet, and your reveries spacious

Till it has loved, no man or woman can become itself.

You cannot put a fire out! A thing that can ignite can go itself- without a flame- E'en through the darkest night!