How many desolate creatures on the earth have learnt the simple dues of fellowship and social comfort, in a hospital.

In this abundant earth no doubt Is little room for things worn out: Disdain them, break them, throw them by! And if before the days grew rough We once were lov'd, us'd -- well enough, I think, we've far'd, my heart and I.

May the good God pardon all good men.

Who so loves believes the impossible.

Or from Browning some "Pomegranate," which if cut deep down the middle Shows a heart within blood-tinctured, of a veined humanity.

World's use is cold, world's love is vain, world's cruelty is bitter bane; but is not the fruit of pain.

The devil's most devilish when respectable.