There Is Delight In Singing, Though None

Life Is But Sighs; And, When They Cease, 'tis Over.

When A Woman Hath Ceased To Be Quite The Same To Us, It Matters Little How Different She Becomes.

Little Men Build Up Great Ones, But The Snow Colossus Soon Melts; The Good Stand Under The Eye Of God, And Therefore Stand.

He Who Brings Ridicule To Bear Against Truth Finds In His Hand A Blade Without A Hilt. The Most Sparkling And Pointed Flame Of Wit Flickers And Expires Against The Incombustible Walls Of Her Sanctuary.

There Is Delight In Singing, Though None Hear Beside The Singer.