It is hard to forgive, and to look at those eyes, and feel those wasted hands,' he answered. 'Kiss me again; and don’t let me see your eyes! I forgive what you have done to me. I love my murderer—but yours! How can I?

It was not the thorn bending to the honeysuckles, but the honeysuckles embracing the thorn.

Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.

Thoughts are tyrants that return again and again to torment us.

If he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn't love as much in eighty years as I could in a day.

It is hard to forgive, and to look at those eyes, and feel those wasted hands,' he answered. 'Kiss me again; and don’t let me see your eyes! I forgive what you have done to me. I love my murderer—but yours! How can I?

Cold inthe earthand the deepsnow piled abovethee, Far, far, removed, cold in the dreary grave! Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee, Severed at last byTime's all-serving wave?