A Rose With All Its Sweetest Leaves

I Am Acquainted With No Immaterial Sensuality So Delightful As Good Acting.

I Have Imbibed Such A Love For Money That I Keep Some Sequins In A Drawer To Count, And Cry Over Them Once A Week.

Oh, For A Forty-parson Power To Chant Thy Praise, Hypocrisy! Oh, For A Hymn Loud As The Virtues Thou Dost Loudly Vaunt, Not Practise!

The Sky Is Changed,-and Such A Change! O Night And Storm And Darkness! Ye Are Wondrous Strong, Yet Lovely In Your Strength, As Is The Light Of A Dark Eye In Woman! Far Along, From Peak To Peak, The Rattling Crags Among, Leaps The Live Thunder.

Oh! Snatched Away In Beauty's Bloom, On Thee Shall Press No Ponderous Tomb; But On Thy Turf Shall Roses Rear Their Leaves, The Earliest Of The Year.