At Christmas, I No More Desire A

So They Loved As Love In Twain Had The Essence But In One; Two Distinct, Divisions None.

O, Grief Hath Changed Me Since You Saw Me Last, And Careful Hours With Time's Deformed Hand Have Written Strange Defeatures In My Face. But Tell Me Yet, Dost Thou Not Know My Voice?

Dreams Are The Children Of Idled Minds.

We Are Oft To Blame In This, - 'tis Too Much Proved, - That With Devotion's Visage, And Pios Action We Do Sugar O'er The Devil Himself.

The Rain, It Raineth Every Day.