Party-spirit At Best Is But The Madness

E'en Sunday Shines No Sabbath Day To Me.

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.

Ye Flowers That Drop, Forsaken By The Spring, Ye Birds That, Left By Summer, Cease To Sing, Ye Trees That Fade, When Autumn Heats Remove, Say, Is Not Absence Death To Those Who Love?

Wit And Judgment Often Are At Strife.

Why Did I Write? What Sin To Me Unknown Dipped Me In Ink, My Parents , Or My Own?