Critics Are Already Made.

'tis Very Certain The Desire Of Life Prolongs It.

As Falls The Dew On Quenchless Sands, Blood Only Serves To Wash Ambition's Hands.

If I Am Fool, It Is, At Least, A Doubting One; And I Envy No One The Certainty Of His Self-approved Wisdom.

Yes, Love Indeed Is Light From Heaven; A Spark Of That Immortal Fire With Angels Shared, By Allah Given To Lift From Earth Our Low Desire.

Ada! Sole Daughter Of My House And Heart.