Love Is Its Own Rescue;

I Cannot Help Esteem The 'bird Within The Hand' Superior To The One The 'bush' May Yield Me Or May Not Too Late To Choose Again

Nature Is What We Know - Yet Have Not Art To Say - So Impotent Our Wisdom Is To Her Simplicity.

Besides The Autumn Poets Sing, A Few Prosaic Days, A Little This Side Of The Snow, And That Side Of The Haze..., Grant Me, Oh Lord, A Sunny Mind- Thy Windy Will To Bear!

Opinion Is A Fitting Thing But Truth Outlasts The Sun - If Then We Cannot Own Them Both, Possess The Oldest One.

God's Unique Capacity Is Too Surprising To Surprise.