Bliss In Possession Will Not Last; Remembered

Eagle Of Flowers! I See Thee Stand, And On The Sun's Noon-glory Gaze; With Eye Like His, Thy Lids Expand, And Fringe Their Disk With Golden Rays: Though Fix'd On Earth, In Darkness Rooted There, Light Is Thy Element, Thy Dwelling Air, Thy Prospect Heaven.

Prayer Is The Soul's Sincere Desire, Uttered Or Unexpressed, The Motion Of A Hidden Fire That Trembles In The Breast. Prayer Is The Burden Of A Sigh, The Falling Of A Tear, The Upward Glancing Of An Eye When None But God Is Near.

The Tulip's Petals Shine In Dew, All Beautiful, But None Alike.

There Is A World Above, Where Parting Is Unknown; A Whole Eternity Of Love, Form'd For The Good Alone; And Faith Beholds The Dying Here Translated To That Happier Sphere.

Tis Human Actions Paint The Chart Of Time.