Conscience Is The Pulse Of Reason

Ah Why Refuse The Blameless Bliss? Can Danger Lurk Within A Kiss?

A Grief Without A Pang, Void, Dark And Drear, A Drowsy, Stifled, Unimpassioned Grief, Which Finds No Natural Outlet Or Relief, In Word, Or Sigh, Or Tear.

Memory, Bosom-spring Of Joy.

And In Life's Noisiest Hour, There Whispers Still The Ceaseless Love Of Thee, The Heart's Self-solace And Soliloquy. You Mould My Hopes, You Fashion Me Within.

History Has A Point Of View; It Cannot Be All Things To All People.