In Commitment, We Dash The Hopes Of

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

Now I Shall Go To Sleep. Goodnight.

As Falls The Dew On Quenchless Sands, Blood Only Serves To Wash Ambition's Hands.

I Should, Many A Good Day, Have Blown My Brains Out, But For The Recollection That It Would Have Given Pleasure To My Mother-in-law.

The Light Of Love, The Purity Of Grace, The Mind, The Music Breathing From Her Face, The Heart Whose Softness Harmonised The Whole — And, Oh! That Eye Was In Itself A Soul!