The Body Is The Soul's Poor House

Before Man's Fall The Rose Was Born,st. Ambrose Says, Without The Thorn;but For Man's Fault Then Was The Thornwithout The Fragrant Rose-bud Born; But Ne'er The Rose Without The Thorn.

Love Is A Circle That Doth Restless Move In The Same Sweet Eternity Of Love.

Drink Wine, And Live Here Blitheful While Ye May; The Morrow's Life Too Late Is; Live To-day.

When One Is Past, Another Care We Have; Thus Woe Succeeds A Woe, As Wave A Wave.

What Though The Sea Be Calm? Trust To The Shore, Ships Have Been Drown'd, Where Late They Danc'd Before.