Glory, Like The Phoenix 'midst Her Fires,

Fill High The Cup With Samian Wine!

Oh! Might I Kiss Those Eyes Of Fire, A Million Scarce Would Quench Desire; Still Would I Steep My Lips In Bliss, And Dwell An Age On Every Kiss; Nor Then My Soul Should Sated Be, Still Would I Kiss And Cling To Thee: Nought Should My Kiss From Thine Dissever, Still Would We Kiss And Kiss For Ever; E'en Though The Numbers Did Exceed The Yellow Harvest's Countless Seed; To Part Would Be A Vain Endeavour: Could I Desist? -ah! Never-never.

Hearts Will Break - Yet Brokenly, Live On.

Think'st Thou Existence Doth Depend On Time? It Doth; But Actions Are Our Epochs.

I Have Great Hopes That We Shall Love Each Other All Our Lives As Much As If We Had Never Married At All.