Memory Is A Strange Bell—jubilee, And Knell.

I Think Heaven Will Not Be As Good As Earth, Unless It Bring With It That Sweet Power To Remember, Which Is The Staple Of Heaven Here.

To Possess Is Past The Instant; We Achieve The Joy, Immortality Contented, Were Anomaly.

Nature, Like Us Is Sometimes Caught Without Her Diadem.

Which Anguish Was The Utterest--then-- To Perish, Or To Live?

Life Is So Rotatory That The Wilderness Falls To Each, Sometime.