Blown Roses Hold Their Sweetness To The

To Breed Up The Son To Common Sense Is Evermore The Parent's Least Expense.

Thus All Below Is Strength, And All Above Is Grace.

I Feel My Sinews Slackened With The Fright, And A Cold Sweat Trills Down All Over My Limbs, As If I Were Dissolving Into Water.

I Strongly Wish For What I Faintly Hope; Like The Daydreams Of Melancholy Men, I Think And Think In Things Impossible, Yet Love To Wander In That Golden Maze.

Farewell, Too Little, And Too Lately Known, Whom I Began To Think And Call My Own.