She Burned Too Bright For This World.

It Is Hard To Forgive, And To Look At Those Eyes, And Feel Those Wasted Hands,' He Answered. 'kiss Me Again; And Don’t Let Me See Your Eyes! I Forgive What You Have Done To Me. I Love My Murderer—but Yours! How Can I?

The Clock Strikes Off The Hollow Half-hours Of All The Life That Is Left To You, One By One.

We Must Be For Ourselves In The Long Run; The Mild And Generous Are Only More Justly Selfish Than The Domineering.

Look On The Grave Where Thou Must Sleep Thy Last, And Strongest Foe; It Is Endurance Not To Weep, If That Repose Seem Woe.

I Shall Smile When Wreaths Of Snow Blossom Where The Rose Should Grow.