I Love You For The

And Friends, Dear Friends,--when It Shall Be That This Low Breath Is Gone From Me, And Gone My Bier Ye Come To Weep, Let One, Most Loving Of You All, Say, "not A Tear Must O'er Her Fall; He Giveth His Beloved Sleep.

Souls Are Gregarious In A Sense, But No Soul Touches Another, As A General Rule.

You Smell A Rose Through A Fence: If Two Should Smell It, What Matter?

We Overstate The Ills Of Life, And Take Imagination... Down Our Earth To Rake.

How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count The Ways.