"The Dying Need But Little, Dear,—" by Emily Dickinson

"Nocturne II" by Skipwith Cannéll

Thy feet are white Upon the foam of the sea; Hold me fast, thou bright Swan, Lest I stumble, And into deep waters.

"Nocturne I" by Skipwith Cannéll

Thy feet, That are like little, silver birds, Thou hast set upon pleasant ways; Therefore I will follow thee, Thou Dove of the Golden Eyes, Upon any path will I follow thee, For the light of thy beauty Shines before me like a torch.

"The Dying Need But Little, Dear,—" by Emily Dickinson

THE dying need but little, dear,— A glass of water's all, A flower's unobtrusive face To punctuate the wall, A fan, perhaps, a friend's regret, And certainly that one No color in the rainbow Perceives when you are gone.

"Streets" by Lewis Alexander

Avenues of dreams Boulevards of pain Moving black streams Shimmering like rain.

"To Night" (Excerpt) by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Swiftly walk o'er the western wave, Spirit of Night! Out of the misty eastern cave, Where, all the long and lone daylight, Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear, Which make thee terrible and dear,— Swift be thy flight!