Is Not Absence Death To Those Who

He Best Can Paint Them Who Shall Feel Them Most.

What Woeful Stuff This Madrigal Would Be, In Some Starved Hackney Sonneteer, Or Me! But Let A Lord Once Own The Happy Lines, How The Wit Brightens! How The Style Refines!

The Only Time You Run Out Of Chances Is When You Stop Taking Them

No More The Mounting Larks, While Daphne Sings, Shall, List'ning, In Mid-air Suspend Their Wings.

And Die Of Nothing But A Rage To Live.