Alas! When Passion Is Both Meek And

The Excellence Of Every Art Is Its Intensity, Capable Of Making All Disagreeables Evaporate, From Their Being In Close Relationship With Beauty And Truth.

I Cannot Exist Without You. I Am Forgetful Of Everything But Seeing You Again.

Through The Dancing Poppies Stole A Breeze, Most Softly Lulling To My Soul.

Thou Wast Not Born For Death, Immortal Bird! No Hungry Generations Tread Thee Down; The Voice I Hear This Passing Night Was Heard In Ancient Days By Emperor And Clown: Perhaps The Self-same Song That Found A Path Through The Sad Heart Of Ruth, When, Sick For Home, She Stood In Tears Amid The Alien Corn; The Same That Ofttimes Hath Charm'd Magic Casements, Opening On The Foam Of Perilous Seas, In Faery Lands Forlorn.

We Must Repeat The Often Repeated Saying, That It Is Unworthy A Religious Man To View An Irreligious One Either With Alarm Or Aversion, Or With Any Other Feeling Than Regret And Hope And Brotherly Commiseration.