And Marlowe, Webster, Fletcher, Ben, Whose fire-hearts sowed our furrows when The world was worthy of such men.

I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless.

Whoever lives true life, will love true love.

Most illogical Irrational nature of our womanhood, That blushes one way, feels another way, And prays, perhaps another!

And each man stands with his face in the light. Of his own drawn sword, ready to do what a hero can.

Death forerunneth Love to win "Sweetest eyes were ever seen."

For frequent tears have run; The colours from my life.