If You Wish To Preserve Your Secret,

Winter Does Not Work Only On A Broad Scale; He Is Careful In Trifles.

We Twain Have Met Like The Ships Upon The Sea, Who Behold An Hour's Converse, So Short, So Sweet: One Little Hour! And Then, Away They Speed On Lonely Paths, Through Mist, And Cloud, And Foam, To Meet No More.

The Sun Was Down, And All The West Was Paved With Sullen Fire. I Cried, Behold! The Barren Beach Of Hell At Ebb Of Tide.

Eternity Doth Wear Upon Her Face The Veil Of Time. They Only See The Veil, And Thus They Know Not What They Stand So Near!

The Sea Complains Upon A Thousand Shores.