Grief Should Be The Instructor Of The

The Stars Are Forth, The Moon Above The Tops Of The Snow-shining Mountains--beautiful! I Linger Yet With Nature, For The Night Hath Been To Me A More Familiar Face Than That Of Man, And In Her Starry Shade Of Dim And Solitary Loveliness I Learned The Language Of Another World.

Nor All That Heralds Rake From Coffin'd Clay, Nor Florid Prose, Nor Honied Lies Of Rhyme, Can Blazon Evil Deeds, Or Consecrate A Crime.

Venice Once Was Dear, The Pleasant Place Of All Festivity, The Revel Of The Earth, The Masque Of Italy.

The Heart Will Break, But Broken Live On.

And Doubt And Discord Step 'twixt Thine And Thee.