I Dwell In Possiblities.

Each That We Lose Takes A Part Of Us; A Crescent Still Abides, Which Like The Moon, Some Turbid Night, Is Summoned By The Tides.

I Stepped From Plank To Plank A Slow And Cautious Way

To Lose Ones Faith-surpass The Loss Of An Estate- Because Estates Can Be Replenished- Faith Cannot-.

Much Madness Is Divinest Sense, To A Discerning Eye.

I Died For Beauty But Was Scarce Adjusted In The Tomb, When One Who Died For Truth Was Lain In An Adjoining Room. He Questioned Softly Why I Failed? "for Beauty," I Replied. "and I For Truth, The Two Are One; We Brethren Are," He Said. And So, As Kinsmen Met A Night, We Talked Between The Rooms, Until The Moss Had Reached Our Lips, And Covered Up Our Names.