Make Not Your Thoughts Your

If Thou Art Rich, Thou Art Poor; For, Like An Ass, Whose Back With Ingots Bows, Thou Bearest Thy Heavy Riches But A Journey, And Death Unloads Thee.

She Speaks Poniards, And Every Word Stabs.

Bow, Stubborn Knees, And, Heart With Strings Of Steel, Be Soft As Sinews Of The New-born Babe. All Many Be Well.

At Once, Good Night- Stand Not Upon The Order Of Your Going, But Go At Once.

Affection, Mistress Of Passion, Sways It To The Mood Of What It Likes Or Loathes.