Oh, The Little More, And

What? Was Man Made A Wheel-work To Wind Up, And Be Discharged, And Straight Wound Up Anew? No! Grown, His Growth Lasts; Taught, He Ne'er Forgets: May Learn A Thousand Things, Not Twice The Same.

Motherhood: All Love Begins And Ends There.

It 's Wiser Being Good Than Bad; It 's Safer Being Meek Than Fierce; It 's Fitter Being Sane Than Mad. My Own Hope Is, A Sun Will Pierce The Thickest Cloud Earth Ever Stretched; That After Last Returns The First, Though A Wide Compass Round Be Fetched.

A Whole I Planned, Youth Shows But Half; Trust God: See All, Nor Be Afraid!

That Moment She Was Mine, Mine, Fair, Perfectly Pure And Good: I Found A Thing To Do, And All Her Hair In One Long Yellow String I Wound Three Times Her Little Throat Around, And Strangled Her. No Pain Felt She; I Am Quite Sure She Felt No Pain. As A Shut Bud That Holds A Bee, I Warily Oped Her Lids: Again Laughed The Blue Eyes Without A Stain. And I Untightened The Next Tress About Her Neck; Her Cheek Once More Blushed Bright Beneath My Burning Kiss . . .