Again the Cousin's whistle! Go, my Love.
There is an inmost center in us all, where truth abides in fullness;....and, to know, rather consists in opening out a way where the imprisoned splendor may escape, then in effecting entry for a light supposed to be without.
A pretty woman's worth some pains to see.
Take away love and our earth is a tomb.
Stung by the splendour of a sudden thought.
Of what I call God, And fools call Nature.