A Light Exists In Spring

I Know Some Lonely Houses Off The Road A Robber'd Like The Look Of,-- Wooden Barred, And Windows Hanging Low

The Sun Proceeds Unmoved To Measure Off Another Day For An Approving God.

The Appetite For Silence Is Seldom An Acquired Taste.

Speech Is One Symptom Of Affection; And Silence One; The Perfect Communication Is Heard Of None.

There's A Certain Slant Of Light, On Winter Afternoons, That Oppresses, Like The Weight Of Cathedral Tunes.