Friendship is Love without his wings!
The keenest pangs the wretched find Are rapture to the dreary void, The leafless desert of the mind, The waste of feelings unemployed.
A little still she strove, and much repented, And whispering “I will ne'er consent”—consented.
Land of lost gods and godlike men.
But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell.
You should have a softer pillow than my heart.