That Sort Of Half Sigh, Which, Accompanied

The Bright, Frosty Day Declined As They Walked And Spoke Together. The Sun Dipped In The River Far Behind Them, And The Old City Lay Red Before Them, As Their Walk Drew To A Close. The Moaning Water Cast Its Seaweed Duskily At Their Feet, When They Turned To Leave Its Margin; And The Rooks Hovered Above Them With Hoarse Cries, Darker Splashes In The Darkening Air.

It Is Because I Think So Much Of Warm And Sensitive Hearts, That I Would Spare Them From Being Wounded.

... What Such People Miscall Their Religion, Is A Vent For Their Bad Humours And Arrogance.

Dead, Your Majesty. Dead, My Lords And Gentlemen. Dead, Right Reverends And Wrong Reverends Of Every Order. Dead, Men And Women, Born With Heavenly Compassion In Your Hearts. And Dying Thus Around Us Every Day.

People Like Us Don't Go Out At Night Cause People Like Them See Us For What We Are