I Confess That I Love

We Never Know How High We Are Till We Are Called To Rise. Then If We Are True To Form Our Statures Touch The Skies.

Fame Is A Fickle Food Upon A Shifting Plate.

The Soul Should Always Stand Ajar, Ready To Welcome The Ecstatic Experience.

All Things Do Go A-courting, In Earth, Or Sea, Or Air, God Hath Made Nothing Single But Thee In His World So Fair.

I Held A Jewel In My Fingers And Went To Sleep. The Day Was Warm, And Winds Were Prosy; I Said: "'t Will Keep." I Woke And Chid My Honest Fingers,— The Gem Was Gone; And Now An Amethyst Remembrance Is All I Own.