Youth's The Season Made For Joys, Love

Thus Shadow Owes Its Birth To Light.

In Beauty Faults Conspicuous Grow; The Smallest Speck Is Seen On Snow.

Twas When The Seas Were Roaring With Hollow Blasts Of Wind, A Damsel Lay Deploring, All On A Rock Reclined.

In Love We Are All Fools Alike.

Is There No Hope? The Sick Man Said, The Silent Doctor Shook His Head, And Took His Leave With Signs Of Sorrow, Despairing Of His Fee To-morrow.