A Maiden Hath No Tongue--but Thought.

But The Strong Base And Building Of My Love Is As The Very Centre Of The Earth, Drawing All Things To It.

A Violet In The Youth Of Primy Nature, Forward, Not Permanent--sweet, Not Lasting; The Perfume And Suppliance Of A Minute; No More.

I'll Say She Looks As Clear As Morning Roses Newly Washed With Dew.

Love Is Familiar. Love Is A Devil. There Is No Evil Angel But Love." -

I Pardon Him, As God Shall Pardon Me.