Death is the golden key that opens the palace of eternity.

Into this wild Abyss/ The womb of Nature, and perhaps her grave--/ Of neither sea, nor shore, nor air, nor fire,/ But all these in their pregnant causes mixed/ Confusedly, and which thus must ever fight,/ Unless the Almighty Maker them ordain/ His dark materials to create more worlds,--/ Into this wild Abyss the wary Fiend/ Stood on the brink of Hell and looked a while,/ Pondering his voyage; for no narrow frith/ He had to cross.

Time will run back and fetch the Age of Gold.

A bevy of fair women.

Seas wept from our deep sorrows.

To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.

Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye, in every gesture dignity and love.