I Am Grown Peaceful As Old Age

I Hear You Reproach, "but Delay Was Best, For Their End Was A Crime." Oh, A Crime Will Do As Well, I Reply, To Serve For A Test As A Virtue Golden Through And Through, Sufficient To Vindicate Itself And Prove Its Worth At A Moment's View! . . . . . . Let A Man Contend To The Uttermost For His Life's Set Prize, Be It What It Will! The Counter Our Lovers Staked Was Lost As Surely As If It Were Lawful Coin; And The Sin I Impute To Each Frustrate Ghost Is-the Unlit Lamp And The Ungirt Loin, Though The End In Sight Was A Vice, I Say.

Who Hears Music Feels His Solitude Peopled At Once.

Truth Is Truth Howe'er It Strike.

Thought Is The Soul Of Act.

Where The Apple Reddens Never Pry - Lest We Lose Our Edens, Eve And I.