A letter always seemed to me like immortality because it is the mind alone without corporeal friend.

Her breast is fit for pearls,But I was not a "Diver" - Her brow is fit for thronesBut I have not a crest,Her heart is fit for home-I- a Sparrow- build thereSweet of twigs and twineMy perennial nest.

Remember and care for me sometimes, and scatter a fragrant flower in this wilderness life of mine by writing me.

…it perished with beautiful reluctance, like an evening star—

—Your sweetness intimidates.

I think of love, and you, and my heart grows full and warm, and my breath stands still.

Oh my darling one, how long you wander from me, how weary I grow of waiting and looking, and calling for you; sometimes I shut my eyes, and shut my heart towards you, and try hard to forget you because you grieve me so, but you'll never go away, oh you never will.

Your absence insanes me so-- I do not feel so peaceful, when you are gone from me.

I miss you, mourn for you, and walk the streets alone- often at night, beside, I fall asleep in tears, for your dear face, yet not one word comes back to me. If it is finished, tell me, and I will raise the lid to my box of Phantoms, and lay one more love in; but if it lives and beats still, still lives and beats for me, then say so, and I will strike the strings to one more strain of happiness before I die.