A Conscience Without God Is Like A

Virginity Is The Poetry, Not The Reality, Of Life.

Thou Makest The Man, O Sorrow!--yes, The Whole Man,--as The Crucible Gold.

Yet, In These Autumn Days When Nature Expires, Here, In These Veiled Scenes, I Find More Attractions; It Is A Friend's Sad Goodbye; It Is The Last Smile From Lips That Death Is Going To Close Forever!

Joy Is A Flame Which Association Alone Can Keep Alive, And Which Goes Out Unless Communicated.

Too Much I've Seen, And Felt, And Lov'd In Life, Living I Come To Seek Lethaean Calm; Let Me, Fair Scenes! Forget All Worldly Strife, Oblivion Solely Is My Bosom's Balm.