The Sun Just Touched The Morning; The

A Precious, Mouldering Pleasure 't Is To Meet An Antique Book In Just The Dress His Century Wore; A Privilege, I Think, His Venerable Hand To Take, And Warming In Our Own, A Passage Back, Or Two, To Make To Times When He Was Young. His Quaint Opinions To Inspect, His Knowledge To Unfold On What Concerns Our Mutual Mind, The Literature Of Old.

Love Is Done When Loves Begun, Sages Say, But Have Sages Known?

Heart, We Will Forget Him, You And I, Tonight! You Must Forget The Warmth He Gave, I Will Forget The Light.

The Past Is Not A Package One Can Lay Away.

I Cannot Live With You, It Would Be Life, And Life Is Over There Behind The Shelf