Of love that never found his earthly close, What sequel? Streaming eyes and breaking hearts; Or all the same as if he had not been?

She sleeps: her breathings are not heard In palace chambers far apart. The fragrant tresses are not stirr'd That lie upon her charmed heart She sleeps: on either hand upswells The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest: She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells A perfect form in perfect rest.

All experience is an arch wherethro' gleams that untraveled world whose margins fade forever and forever as we move.

He that shuts love out, in turn shall be Shut out from love, and on her threshold lie, Howling in outer darkness.

Ring out the false, ring in the true.

The voice of the dead was a living voice to me.

As the husband is, the wife is.