If I Leave All For Thee, Wilt

How Joyously The Young Sea-mew Lay Dreaming On The Waters Blue, Whereon Our Little Bark Had Thrown A Little Shade, The Only One; But Shadows Ever Man Pursue.

I Tell You, Hopeless Grief Is Passionless.

Yes, I Answered You Last Night; No, This Morning, Sir, I Say: Colors Seen By Candle-light Will Not Look The Same By Day.

What We Call Life Is A Condition Of The Soul. And The Soul Must Improve In Happiness And Wisdom, Except By Its Own Fault. These Tears In Our Eyes, These Faintings Of The Flesh, Will Not Hinder Such Improvement.

What Monster Have We Here? A Great Deed At This Hour Of Day? A Great Just Deed - And Not For Pay? Absurd - Or Insincere?