He Who Has Suffered You To Impose

To Cast Aside From Poetry, All That Is Not Inspiration

My Silks And Fine Array, My Smiles And Languished Air, By Love Are Driv'n Away And Mournful Lean Despair Brings Me Yew To Deck My Grave: Such End True Lovers Have.

He Who Desires, But Acts Not, Breeds Pestilence.

I Cry, Love! Love! Love! Happy Happy Love! Free As The Mountain Wind!

Can I See Another's Woe, And Not Be In Sorrow Too? Can I See Another's Grief, And Not Seek For Kind Relief?