When It Is Moving On Luxurious Wings,

She Press'd His Hand In Slumber; So Once More He Could Not Help But Kiss Her And Adore.

It Is A Flaw In Happiness To See Beyond Our Bourn, - It Forces Us In Summer Skies To Mourn, It Spoils The Singing Of The Nightingale.

I Am Certain I Have Not A Right Feeling Towards Women -- At This Moment I Am Striving To Be Just To Them, But I Cannot. Is It Because They Fall So Far Beneath My Boyish Imagination? When I Was A Schoolboy I Thought A Fair Woman A Pure Goddess; My Mind Was A Soft Nest In Which Some One Of Them Slept, Though She Knew It Not.

The Feel Of Not To Feel It, When There Is None To Heal It Nor Numbed Sense To Steel It.

Now A Soft Kiss - Aye, By That Kiss, I Vow An Endless Bliss.