We Neither Laugh Alone, Nor

We May Think All Religions Beneficial, And Believe Of One Alone That It Is True.

Child Of Mortality, Whence Comest Thou? Why Is Thy Countenance Sad, And Why Are Thine Eyes Red With Weeping?

The First Pale Blossom Of The Unripened Year.

We Can Only Love What We Know.

So Fades A Summer Cloud Away; So Sinks The Gale When Storms Are O'er; So Gently Shuts The Eye Of Day; So Dies A Wave Along The Shore.