God Will Pardon: That's His Business.

There, Where One Burns Books... One, In The End, Burns Men.

A Lonely Fir-tree Is Standing On A Northern Barren Height; It Sleeps, And The Ice And Snow-drift Cast Round It A Garment Of White.

The Beauteous Eyes Of The Spring's Fair Night With Comfort Are Downward Gazing.

Perfumes Are The Feelings Of Flowers.

The Sea Appears All Golden. Beneath The Sun-lit Sky.