There's Naught, No Doubt, So Much The

War, War Is Still The Cry,-"war Even To The Knife!"

I Learned To Love Despair.

Perhaps The Early Grave Which Men Weep Over May Be Meant To Save.

She Walks In Beauty, Like The Night Of Cloudless Climes And Starry Skies; And All That's Best Of Dark And Bright Meet In Her Aspect And Her Eyes.

The Bright Sun Was Extinguish'd, And The Stars Did Wander Darkling In The Eternal Space.