Souls made of fire, and children of the sun, With whom revenge is virtue.
Time destroyed Is suicide, where more than blood is spilt.
Tis immortality, 'tis that alone, Amid life's pains, abasements, emptiness, The soul can comfort, elevate, and fill. That only, and that amply this performs.
Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew, She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven.
Men before you have quit smoking - you can too!
How blessings brighten as they take their flight.