Beauty Crowds Me Till I

I Have An Appetite For Silence.

Answer July- Where Is The Bee- Where Is The Blush- Where Is The Hay? Ah, Said July- Where Is The Seed- Where Is The Bud- Where Is The May- Answer Thee-me-

The Spirit Lurks Within The Flesh Like Tides Within The Sea That Make The Water Live, Estranged What Would The Either Be?

Love Is Its Own Rescue; For We, At Our Supremest, Are But Its Trembling Emblems.

A Narrow Fellow In The Grass Occasionally Rides