The Day Is Gone, And All Its

Dry Your Eyes O Dry Your Eyes, For I Was Taught In Paradise To Ease My Breast Of Melodies.

Can Death Be Sleep, When Life Is But A Dream, And Scenes Of Bliss Pass As A Phantom By? ---"on Death

A Man's Life Of Any Worth Is A Continual Allegory, And Very Few Eyes Can See The Mystery Of His Life, A Life Like The Scriptures, Figurative.

Thou Wast Not Born For Death, Immortal Bird! No Hungry Generations Tread Thee Down; The Voice I Hear This Passing Night Was Heard In Ancient Days By Emperor And Clown: Perhaps The Self-same Song That Found A Path Through The Sad Heart Of Ruth, When, Sick For Home, She Stood In Tears Amid The Alien Corn; The Same That Ofttimes Hath Charm'd Magic Casements, Opening On The Foam Of Perilous Seas, In Faery Lands Forlorn.

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