The Crime, From Us, Is Hidden, [though]

Best Witchcraft Is Geometry To The Magician's Mind - His Ordinary Acts Are Feats To Thinking Of Mankind.

I Measure Every Grief I Meet With Narrow, Probing Eyes - I Wonder If It Weighs Like Mine - Or Has An Easier Size.

Fame Is A Fickle Food Upon A Shifting Plate, Whose Table Once A Guest, But Not The Second Time, Is Set. Whose Crumbs The Crows Inspect, And With Ironic Caw Flap Past It To The Farmer's Corn; Men Eat Of It And Die.

A Charm Invests A Face Imperfectly Beheld,— The Lady Dare Not Lift Her Veil For Fear It Be Dispelled. But Peers Beyond Her Mesh, And Wishes, And Denies,— Lest Interview Annul A Want That Image Satisfies.

How Softly Summer Shuts, Without The Creaking Of A Door.