The delight that consumes the desire, The desire that outruns the delight.

For the crown of our life as it closes Is darkness, the fruit thereof dust; No thorns go as deep as a rose's, And love is more cruel than lust. Time turns the old days to derision, Our loves into corpses or wives; And marriage and death and division Make barren our lives.

To wipe off the froth of falsehood from the foaming lips of inebriated virtue, when fresh from the sexless orgies of morality and reeling from the delirious riot of religion, may doubtless be a charitable office.

Yet leave me not; yet, if thou wilt, be free; love me no more, but love my love of thee.

Heart's ease of pansy, pleasure or thought, Which would the picture give us of these? Surely the heart that conceived it sought Heart's ease.

The sweetest flowers in all the world- A baby's hands.

Though one were fair as roses His beauty clouds and closes.