I dore not always touch her, lest the kiss Leave my lips charred. Yea, Lord, a little bliss, Brief, bitter bliss, one hath for a great sin; Nathless thou knowest how sweet a thing it is.

For words divide and rend But silence is most noble till the end.

There is no God found stronger than death; and death is a sleep.

Marvellous mercies and infinite love.

Despair the twin-born of devotion.

The beast faith lives on its own dung.

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