Of Love, That Fairest Joys Give Most

The Public - A Thing I Cannot Help Looking Upon As An Enemy, And Which I Cannot Address Without Feelings Of Hostility.

Sudden A Thought Came Like A Full-blown Rose, Flushing His Brow.

I Stood Tip-toe Upon A Little Hill, The Air Was Cooling, And So Very Still, That The Sweet Buds Which With A Modest Pride Pull Droopingly, In Slanting Curve Aside, Their Scantly Leaved, And Finely Tapering Stems, Had Not Yet Lost Those Starry Diadems Caught From The Early Sobbing Of The Morn.

A Little Noiseless Noise Among The Leaves, Born Of The Very Sigh That Silence Heaves.

I Could Be Martyred For My Religion. Love Is My Religion And I Could Die For That. I Could Die For You.