Life's Sharpest Rapture Is Surcease

Naught Is Too Small And Soft To Turn And Sting.

Life's Sharpest Rapture Is Surcease Of Pain.

My Own Curiosity And Interest Are Insatiable.

Thick February Mists Cling Heavily To The Dead Earth And To Each Leafless Tree, And Closer Down Upon The Hilltops Draw, Dull Forecasts There Of Bright, Sure-coming Spring; Yet The Heart Gathers Hope And Strange Delight From This Dear, Unlovely, Wished-for Sight Of Leaden-misted Twilights Lengthening.

Kindle The Taper Like The Steadfast Star Ablaze On Evening's Forehead O'er The Earth, And Add Each Night A Lustre Till Afar An Eightfold Splendor Shine Above Thy Hearth.