In Black Ink My Love May Still

Love Goes Toward Love.

So Full Of Artless Jealousy Is Guilt, It Spills Itself In Fearing To Be Spilt.

Confess Yourself To Heaven, Repent What's Past, Avoid What Is To Come, And Do Not Spread The Compost On The Weeds To Make Them Ranker.

When Our Actions Do Not, Our Fears Make Us Traitors.

They Lie Deadly That Tell You Have Good Faces.