The Dew, 'tis Of The Tears Which

The Heart Is Its Own Fate.

Night Comes, World-jewelled, . . . The Stars Rush Forth In Myriads As To Wage War With The Lines Of Darkness; And The Moon, Pale Ghost Of Night, Comes Haunting The Cold Earth After The Sun's Red Sea-death--quietless.

Poets Are All Who Love, Who Feel Great Truths, And Tell Them; And The Truth Of Truths Is Love.

Life Hath More Awe Than Death.

Mind And Night Will Meet, Though In Silence, Like Forbidden Lovers.