The Busy Have No Time For Tears.

A Little Still She Strove, And Much Repented, And Whispering “i Will Ne'er Consent”—consented.

I Only Go Out To Get Me A Fresh Appetite For Being Alone.

Time Strips Our Illusions Of Their Hue, And One By One In Turn, Some Grand Mistake Casts Off Its Bright Skin Yearly Like The Snake.

Now I Shall Go To Sleep. Goodnight.

'tis Solitude Should Teach Us How To Die; It Hath No Flatterers; Vanity Can Give, No Hollow Aid; Alone - Man With God Must Strive.