His Labor is a Chant -- his Idleness -- a Tune -- oh, for a Bee's experience of Clovers, and of Noon!
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A word is dead when it is said, some say. I say it just begins to live that day.
A word is dead when it is saidsome say.I say it just begins to livethat day. -
Death is a Dialogue between, the Spirit and the Dust.
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Drab Habitation of Whom? Tabernacle or Tomb -- or Dome of Worm -- or Porch of Gnome -- or some Elf's Catacomb?
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We never know how high we are till we are called to rise; and then, if we are true to plan, our stature's touch the skies.
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Success is counted sweetest by those who never succeed.
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I argue thee that love is life. And life hath immortality.
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Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul -- and sings the tunes without the words -- and never stops at all.
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I dwell in Possibility.
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Dying is a wild night and a new road.
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Because I could not stop for death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves and immortality.
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