Heaven Is So Far Of

A Little Madness In The Spring Is Wholesome Even For The King.

I Died For Beauty--but Was Scarce Adjusted In The Tomb When One Who Died For Truth, Was Lain In An Adjoining Room

Forever Is Composed Of Nows.

As Summer Into Autumn Slips And Yet We Sooner Say "the Summer" Than "the Autumn," Lest We Turn The Sun Away, And Almost Count It An Affront The Presence To Concede Of One However Lovely, Not The One That We Have Loved - So We Evade The Charge Of Years On One Attempting Shy The Circumvention Of The Shaft Of Life's Declivity.

Life Is So Rotatory That The Wilderness Falls To Each, Sometime.