Tis Visible Silence, Still As The Hour-glass.

Love, Which Is Quickly Kindled In The Gentle Heart, Seized This Man For The Fair Form That Was Taken From Me, The Manner Still Hurts Me. Love Which Absolves No Beloved One From Loving, Seized Me So Strongly With His Charm That, As Thou Seest, It Does Not Leave Me Yet

The Wombat Is A Joy, A Triumph, A Delight, A Madness!

Your Eyes Smile Peace.

Was It A Friend Or Foe That Spread These Lies; Nay, Who But Infants Question In Such Wise, Twas One Of My Most Intimate Enemies.

Unto The Man Of Yearning Thought And Aspiration, To Do Nought Is In Itself Almost An Act.