I Do Not Like The

I Could Not Stop For Death And He Did Not Stop For Me.

The Appetite For Silence Is Seldom An Acquired Taste.

Then, As Horizons Step, Or Noons Report Away,without The Formula Of Sound, It Passes, And We Stay:a Quality Of Loss Affecting Our Content.

The Morning After Woe- Tis Frequently The Way- Surpasses All That Rose Before- For Utter Jubilee-.

Drunkards Of Summer Are Quite As Frequent As Drunkards Of Wine.