Every Wish Is Like A

Love That Endures, From Life That Disappears!

You Were Made Perfectly To Be Loved - And Surely I Have Loved You, In The Idea Of You, My Whole Life Long.

Guess Now Who Holds Thee?'--'death,' I Said. But, There, The Silver Answer Rang, . . . 'not Death, But Love.

For 'tis Not In Mere Death That Men Die Most.

For Poets (bear The Word) Half-poets Even, Are Still Whole Democrats.