It Is More Honorable To Be Raised

All Pleasure In The World Is A Passing Dream.

What Name To Call Thee By, O Virgin Fair, I Know Not, For Thy Looks Are Not Of Earth And More Than Mortal Seems Thy Countenances

I Know And Love The Good, Yet, Ah! The Worst Pursue.

My Flowery And Green Age Was Passing Away, And I Feeling A Chill In The Fires Had Been Wasting My Heart, For I Was Drawing Near The Hillside Above The Grave.

To Be Able To Say How Much Love, Is Love But Little.