Is Not Absence Death To Those Who

Then From The Mint Walks Forth The Man Of Rhyme, Happy To Catch Me, Just At Dinner-time.

Virtuous And Vicious Every Man Must Be, Few In The Extreme, But All In The Degree.

Dear Fatal Name! Rest Ever Unreveal'd, Nor Pass These Lips In Holy Silence Seal'd. Hide It, My Heart, Within That Close Disguise, Where Mixed With Gods, His Lov'd Idea Lies: O Write It Not, My Hand - The Name Appears Already Written - Wash It Out, My Tears! In Vain Lost Eloisa Weeps And Prays, Her Heart Still Dictates, And Her Hand Obeyes.

On Wings Of Wind Came Flying All Abroad.

Genuine Religion Is Not So Much A Matter Of Feeling As A Matter Of Principle.