True Love Is The Ripe Fruit Of

Hence Life, As Through A Cloud, For Me I See Vanish, And To The Past's Dark Shade 'tis Chas'd; As A Grand Image Love Remains To Me-- Sole Remnant Of A Dream, By Morn Effac'd.

Let Us Love The Passing Hour, Let Us Hurry Up And Enjoy Our Time.

There Is A Woman At The Begining Of All Great Things.

There Is A Name Hidden In The Shadow Of My Soul, Where I Read It Night And Day And No Other Eye Sees It.

What Mortal Is There, Over Whose First Joys And Happiness Does Not Break Some Storm, Dispelling With Its Icy Breath His Fanciful Illusions, And Shattering His Altar?