When Death to either shall come - I pray it be first to me.

The lonely season in lonely lands, when fled Are half the birds, and mists lie low, and the sun Is rarely seen, nor strayeth far from his bed; The short days pass unwelcomed one by one.

Unto us all our days are love's anniversaries, each one In turn hath ripened something of our happiness.

So sweet love seemed that April morn, when first we kissed beside the thorn, so strangely sweet, it was not strange we thought that love could never change.

Beauty, the eternal Spouse of the Wisdom of God and Angel of his Presence thru' all creation.

My delight and thy delight Walking, like two angels white, In the gardens of the night.

Beauty being the best of all we know sums up the unsearchable and secret aims of nature.