Pity Melts The Mind To Love.

The Good We Have Enjoyed From Heaven's Free Will, And Shall We Murmur To Endure The Ill?

For All Have Not The Gift Of Martyrdom.

Merit Challenges Envy.

Fattened In Vice, So Callous And So Gross, He Sins And Sees Not, Senseless Of His Loss.

Love Reckons Hours For Months, And Days For Years; And Every Little Absence Is An Age.