He Hath No Power That Hath Not

Could I Love Less, I Should Be Happier Now.

Music Lives Within Thy Lips Like A Nightingale In Roses.

Night Comes, World-jewelled, . . . The Stars Rush Forth In Myriads As To Wage War With The Lines Of Darkness; And The Moon, Pale Ghost Of Night, Comes Haunting The Cold Earth After The Sun's Red Sea-death--quietless.

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

Life's But A Means Unto An End, That End, Beginning, Mean, And End To All Things--god.