Soul Meets Soul On Lovers' Lips.

O Heart, And Mind, And Thoughts! What Thing Do You Hope To Inherit In The Grave Below?

The Cloud Of Mind Is Discharging Its Collected Lightning.

Death Is The Veil Which Those Who Live Call Life; They Sleep, And It Is Lifted.

Poetry Is A Mirror Which Makes Beautiful That Which Is Distorted.

One Word Is Too Often Profaned For Me To Profane It, One Feeling Too Falsely Disdain'd For Thee To Disdain It. One Hope Too Like Dispair For Prudence To Smother, I Can Give Not What Men Call Love: But Wilt Thou Accept Not The Worship The Heart Lifts Above And Heaven Rejects Not: The Desire Of The Moth For The Star, The Devotion Of Something Afar From The Sphere Of Our Sorrow?