On A Lone Winter Evening, When The

Pleasure Is Oft A Visitant; But Pain Clings Cruelly To Us.

Now A Soft Kiss - Aye, By That Kiss, I Vow An Endless Bliss.

The Imagination Of A Boy Is Healthy, And The Mature Imagination Of A Man Is Healthy; But There Is A Space Of Life Between, In Which The Soul Is In A Ferment, The Character Undecided, The Way Of Life Uncertain, The Ambition Thick-sighted: Thence Proceeds Mawkishness.

O, Sorrow! Why Dost Borrow Heart's Lightness From The Merriment Of May?

There Was An Awful Rainbow Once In Heaven: We Know Her Woof, Her Texture; She Is Given In The Dull Catalogue Of Common Things. Philosophy Will Clip An Angel's Wings.