Love is like the wild rose-briar; Friendship like the holly-tree. The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms, But which will bloom most constantly? The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring ,Its summer blossoms scent the air; Yet wait till winter comes again, And who will call the wild-briar fair? Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now, And deck thee with holly's sheen, That, when December blights thy brow, He still may leave thy garland green.

Some Arrows slay but whom they strike - But this slew all but him - Who so appareled his Escape - Too trackless for a Tomb

Beauty is just a light switch away...'click!' Beauty is not caused. It is.

They say that “Time assuages” - Time never did assuage - An actual suffering strengthens As Sinews do, with age - Time is a Test of Trouble - But not a Remedy - If such it prove, it prove too There was no Malady

A precious, mouldering pleasure 't is, to meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore; A privilege I think.

The Spirit lurks within the Flesh Like Tides within the Sea That make the Water live, estranged What would the Either be?

The soul selects her own society, Then shuts the door; On her divine majority Obtrude no more.