Each That We Lose Takes A Part

One Need Not Be A Chamber To Be Haunted; One Need Not Be A House; The Brain Has Corridors Surpassing Material Place.

My Love For Those I Love -- Not Many -- Not Very Many, But Don't I Love Them So?

Our Little Kinsmen After Rain In Plenty May Be Seen, A Pink And Pulpy Multitude The Tepid Ground Upon; A Needless Life If Seemed To Me Until A Little Bird As To A Hospitality Advanced And Breakfasted.

His Cheek Is His Biographer- As Long As He Can Blush.

This Is My Letter To The World, That Never Wrote To Me, The Simple News That Nature Told, With Tender Majesty. Her Message Is Committed, To Hands I Cannot See; For Love Of Her, Sweet Countrymen, Judge Tenderly Of Me.