Shut not your doors to me proud libraries.

All beauty comes from beautiful blood and a beautiful brain.

This hour I tell things in confidence/ I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.

In the dooryard fronting an old farm-house near the white-wash'd palings, Stands the lilac-bush tall-growing with heart-shaped leaves of rich green, with many a pointed blossom rising delicate, with the perfume strong I love, With every leaf a miracle - and from this bush in the dooryard, With delicate-color'd blossoms and heart-shaped leaves of rich green, A sprig with its flower I break.

I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled systems, All all I see multiplied as high as I can cipher edge but the rim of the farther systems. Wider and wider they spread, expanding, always expanding, Outward and outward and forever outward.

The orchestra whirls me wider than Uranus flies, It wrenches such ardors from me I did not know I possess'd them

I think it is lost.....but nothing is ever lost nor can be lost .