My Creed Is Love And You Are

The Silver, Snarling Trumpets 'gan To Chide.

I Want A Brighter Word Than Bright

Love Is My Religion - I Could Die For It.

His Old Right Hand Lay Nerveless, Listless, Dead, Unsceptred; And His Realmless Eyes Were Closed.

The Poppies Hung Dew-dabbled On Their Stalks.