All Heaven and Earth are still, though not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling most.

Man is in part divine, A troubled stream from a pure source.

To chase the glowing hours with flying feet.

Oh! might I kiss those eyes of fire, A million scarce would quench desire; Still would I steep my lips in bliss, And dwell an age on every kiss; Nor then my soul should sated be, Still would I kiss and cling to thee: Nought should my kiss from thine dissever, Still would we kiss and kiss for ever; E'en though the numbers did exceed The yellow harvest's countless seed; To part would be a vain endeavour: Could I desist? -ah! never-never.

Dreading that climax of all human ills the inflammation of his weekly bills.

I can't but say it is an awkward sight To see one's native land receding through The growing waters; it unmans one quite, Especially when life is rather new.

Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.