Tomorrow Is The Mysterious, Unknown

It Is Foolish To Pretend That One Is Fully Recovered From A Disappointed Passion. Such Wounds Always Leave A Scar.

It Is A Beautiful Trait In The Lover's Character, That They Think No Evil Of The Object Loved.

They, The Holy Ones And Weakly, Who The Cross Of Suffering Bore, Folded Their Pale Hands So Meekly, Spake With Us On Earth No More!

'twas Easter-sunday. The Full-blossomed Trees Filled All The Air With Fragrance And With Joy.

Softly The Evening Came /with The Sunset/.