Again The Cousin's Whistle! Go, My Love.

At Last Awake From Life, That Insane Dream We Take For Waking Now.

Measure Your Mind's Height By The Shade It Casts.

Days Decrease, / And Autumn Grows, Autumn In Everything.

'tis An Awkward Thing To Play With Souls.

I Dare Not So Honor My Mere Wishes And Prayers As To Put Them For A Moment Beside Your Noble Acts; But This Know, I Would Rather Submit To The Worst Of Deaths, So Far As Pain Goes, Than Have A Single Dog Or Cat Tortured On The Pretence Of Sparing Me A Twinge Or Two.