Any Heart Turned Godward Feels More Joyin

I Run The Gauntlet Of A File Of Doubts, Each One Of Which Down Hurls Me To The Ground.

I Cannot Love As I Have Loved, And Yet I Know Not Why; It Is The One Great Woe Of Life To Feel All Feeling Die.

Stars Which Stand As Thick As Dewdrops On The Field Of Heaven.

I Am Tired Of Looking On What Is, One Might As Well See Beauty Never More, As Look Upon It With An Empty Eye. I Would This World Were Over. I Am Tired.

Dewdrops, Nature's Tears, Which She Sheds In Her Own Breast For The Fair Which Die. The Sun Insists On Gladness; But At Night, When He Is Gone, Poor Nature Loves To Weep.