An Angel; Or, If Not, An Earthly

And Will He Not Come Again? And Will He Not Come Again? No, No, He Is Dead. Go To Thy Deathbed. He Never Will Come Again.

I Would Fain Die A Dry Death.

We Do Not Keep The Outward Form Of Order, Where There Is Deep Disorder In The Mind.

Who Can Be Wise, Amazed, Temperate And Furious, Loyal And Neutral, In A Moment? No Man.

We Are Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made On; And Our Little Life Is Rounded With A Sleep.