All's Love, Yet All's Law.

Sorrow, The Heart Must Bear, Sits In The Home Of Each, Conspicuous There. Many A Circumstance, At Least, Touches The Very Breast. For Those Whom Any Sent Away,--he Knows: And In The Live Man's Stead, Armor And Ashes Reach The House Of Each.

Lost, Lost! One Moment Knelled The Woe Of Years.

Graved Inside Of It, "italy".

Shakespeare Was Of Us, Milton Was Of Us, Burns, Shelley, Were With Us. They Watch From Their Graves!

Genius Has Somewhat Of The Infantine; But Of The Childish Not A Touch Or Taint.