The Creature Has A Purpose, And His

You Are Always New, The Last Of Your Kisses Was Ever The Sweetest.

Already With Thee! Tender Is The Night. . . But Here There Is No Light. . .

Bright Star, Would I Were Steadfast As Thou Art-- Not In Lone Splendour Hung Aloft The Night And Watching, With Eternal Lids Apart, Like Nature's Patient, Sleepless Eremite.

The Poetry Of The Earth Is Never Dead.

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