The Silence Often Of Pure Innocence Persuades

I'll Follow Thee And Make A Heaven Of Hell, To Die Upon The Hand I Love So Well

Nature, As It Grows Again Toward Earth, Is Fashioned For The Journey, Dull And Heavy.

Weary With Toil, I Haste Me To My Bed The Dear Repose For Limbs With Travel Tired; But Then Begins A Journey In My Head To Work My Mind, When Body's Work's Expir'd: For Then My Thoughts-from Far Where I Abide- Intend A Zealous Pilgrimage To Thee, And Keep My Drooping Eyelids Open Wide, Looking On Darkness Which The Blind Do See: Save That My Soul's Imaginary Sight Presents Thy Shadow To My Sightless View, Which, Like A Jewel Hung In Ghastly Night, Makes Black Night Beauteous And Her Old Face New. Lo! Thus, By Day My Limbs, By Night My Mind, For Thee, And For Myself No Quiet Find.

Love Does Not See With The Eyes, But With The Soul.

Oh Why Rebuke You Him That Loves You So? / Lay Breath So Bitter On Your Bitter Foe.