Be Thou The Rainbow In The Storms

Oh! Snatched Away In Beauty's Bloom, On Thee Shall Press No Ponderous Tomb; But On Thy Turf Shall Roses Rear Their Leaves, The Earliest Of The Year.

Then Stirs The Feeling Infinite, So Felt In Solitude, Where We Are Least Alone.

To Have Joy, One Must Share It.

Curiosity Kills Itself; And Love Is Only Curiosity, As Is Proved By Its End.

I Have Not Loved The World, Nor The World Me.