Real Are The Dreams Of Gods, And

O, Sorrow! Why Dost Borrow Heart's Lightness From The Merriment Of May?

My Love Is Selfish. I Cannot Breathe Without You.

I Find I Cannot Exist Without Poetry

Let Us Away, My Love, With Happy Speed; There Are No Ears To Hear, Or Eyes To See, - Drown'd All In Rhenish And The Sleepy Mead. Awake! Arise! My Love And Fearless Be, For O'er The Southern Moors I Have A Home For Thee.

Health Is The Greatest Of Blessings - With Health And Hope We Should Be Content To Live.