Books Are Sepulchres Of Thought.

It Is Autumn; Not Without But Within Me Is The Cold. Youth And Spring Are All About; It Is I That Have Grown Old.

Such Was The Wreck Of The Hesperus, In The Midnight And The Snow! Christ Save Us All From A Death Like This, On The Reef Of Norman's Woe!

Our Faith Triumphant O'er Our Fears.

Therefore Trust To Thy Heart, And To What The World Calls Illusions.

Ne Speaketh Not; And Yet There Lies A Conversation In His Eyes.