To The Eyes Of The Man Of

Love To Faults Is Always Blind, Always Is To Joy Inclined. Lawless, Winged, And Unconfined, And Breaks All Chains From Every Mind.

It Is An Easy Thing To Talk Of Patience To The Afflicted.

Bring Me An Axe And Spade, Bring Me A Winding-sheet; When I My Grave Have Made Let Winds And Tempests Beat: Then Down I'll Lie As Cold As Clay. True Love Doth Pass Away!

To Create A Little Flower Is The Labour Of Ages.

There Can Be No Good Will. Will Is Always Evil; It Is Persecution To Others Or Selfishness.