Love Can Do All But Raise The

Which Anguish Was The Utterest--then-- To Perish, Or To Live?

Love Is Its Own Rescue; For We, At Our Supremest, Are But Its Trembling Emblems.

Fame Is A Fickle Food Upon A Shifting Plate.

Not If Their Party Were Waiting, Not If To Talk With Me Were To Them Now, Homesickness After Eternity.

The Sweets Of Pillage Can Be Known To No One But The Thief, Compassion For Integrity Is His Divinest Grief.