No More We Meet In Yonder Bowers

Few Things Surpass Old Wine; And They May Preach Who Please, The More Because They Preach In Vain

For The Angel Of Death Spread His Wings On The Blast, And Breathed In The Face Of The Foe As He Passed; And The Eyes Of The Sleepers Waxed Deadly And Chill, And Their Hearts But Once Heaved, And For Ever Grew Still!

Grief Is Fantastical, And Loves The Dead, And The Apparel Of The Grave.

The Devil Was The First Democrat

I Have Seen A Thousand Graves Opened, And Always Perceived That Whatever Was Gone, The Teeth And Hair Remained Of Those Who Had Died With Them. Is Not This Odd? They Go The Very First Things In Youth And Yet Last The Longest In The Dust.