It Is A Pity That Doing One's

Whatever The Cause, I Could Not Meet His Sunshine With Cloud. If This Were My Last Moment With Him, I Would Not Waste It In Forced, Unnatural Distance. I Loved Him Well - Too Well Not To Smite Out Of My Path Even Jealousy Herself, When She Would Have Obstructed A Kind Farewell. A Cordial Word From His Lips, Or A Gentle Look From His Eyes, Would Do Me Good, For All The Span Of Life That Remained To Me; It Would Be Comfort In The Last Strait Of Loneliness; I Would Take It - I Would Taste The Elixir, And Pride Should Not Spill The Cup.

Prodigious Was The Amount Of Life I Lived That Morning.

To The Dear Eye And Eloquent Tongue, To The Soul Made Of Fire, And The Character That Bends But Does Not Break... I Am Ever Tender And True.

Oh, I Am Not Going To Die, Am I? He Will Not Separate Us, We Have Been So Happy.

Poverty, For Me, Is Synonymous With Degradation.