When first we met we did not guess that Love would prove so hard a master.

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

Scatter the clouds that hide The face of heaven, and show Where sweet peace doth abide, Where Truth and Beauty grow.

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.

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

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