I Love The Language, It Sounds As

Christians Have Burnt Each Other, Quite Persuaded. That All The Apostles Would Have Done As They Did.

A Little Still She Strove, And Much Repented, And Whispering “i Will Ne'er Consent”—consented.

Let None Think To Fly The Danger For Soon Or Late Love Is His Own Avenger.

What Deep Wounds Ever Closed Without A Scar? The Hearts Bleed Longest, And Heals But To Wear That Which Disfigures It.

My Beautiful, My Own My Only Venice-this Is Breath! Thy Breeze Thine Adrian Sea-breeze, How It Fans My Face! Thy Very Winds Feel Native To My Veins, And Cool Them Into Calmness!