I Lost The Love Of Heaven Above

I Lost The Love Of Heaven Above I Spurned The Lust Of Earth Below I Felt The Sweets Of Fancied Love And Hell Itself My Only Foe.

And What Is Life? - An Hour-glass On The Run

Loud Is The Summer's Busy Song The Smallest Breeze Can Find A Tongue, While Insects Of Each Tiny Size Grow Teasing With Their Melodies, Till Noon Burns With Its Blistering Breath Around, And Day Lies Still As Death.

While Snow The Window-panes Bedim, The Fire Curls Up A Sunny Charm, Where, Creaming O'er The Pitcher's Rim, The Flowering Ale Is Set To Warm; Mirth, Full Of Joy As Summer Bees, Sits There, Its Pleasures To Impart, And Children, 'tween Their Parent's Knees, Sing Scraps Of Carols O'er By Heart.

Language Has Not The Power To Speak What Love Indites: The Soul Lies Buried In The Ink That Writes.