Sometimes When We Are Labeled, When We

Affection Faints Not Like A Pale-faced Coward, But Then Woos Best When Most His Choice Is Froward.

O Father Abram, What These Christians Are, Whose Own Hard Dealing Teaches Them Suspect The Thoughts Of Others!

Passion Makes The Will Lord Of The Reason.

My Love Is Thaw'd; Which, Like A Waxen Image 'gainst A Fire, Bears No Impression Of The Thing It Was

Kent. Where's The King? Gent. Contending With The Fretful Elements; Bids The Wind Blow The Earth Into The Sea, Or Swell The Curled Waters 'bove The Main, That Things Might Change Or Cease; Tears His White Hair, Which The Impetuous Blasts, With Eyeless Rage, Catch In Their Fury And Make Nothing Of; Strives In His Little World Of Man To Outscorn The To-and-fro-conflicting Wind And Rain. This Night, Wherein The Cub-drawn Bear Would Couch, The Lion And The Belly-pinched Wolf Keep Their Fur Dry, Unbonneted He Runs, And Bids What Will Take All.