Thy Return Is As Another Sun To

I Sent My Soul Through The Invisible, Some Letter Of That After-life To Spell: And By And By My Soul Return'd To Me, And Answer'd: 'i Myself Am Heav'n And Hell

Come, Fill The Cup, And In The Fire Of Spring The Winter Garment Of Repentance Fling: The Bird Of Time Has But A Little Way To Fly-and Lo! The Bird Is On The Wing.

Myself When Young Did Eagerly Frequent Doctor And Saint, And Heard Great Argument About It And About: But Evermore Came Out By The Same Door As In I Went.

Ah Love! Could You And I With Him Conspire To Grasp This Sorry Scheme Of Things Entire Would We Not Shatter It To Bits-and Then Re-mould It Nearer To The Heart's Desire?

Here's To The Man Who Owns The Land That Bears The Grapes That Makes The Wine That Tastes As Good As This Does.