No true love there can be without Its dread penalty--jealousy.

Those true eyes, Too pure and too honest in aught to disguise, The sweet soul shining through them.

Truth makes on the ocean of nature no one track of light; every eye, looking on, finds its own.

Unseen hands delay The coming of what oft seems close in ken, And, contrary, the moment, when we say "'Twill never come!" comes on us even then.

No life can be pure in its purpose, and strong in its strife, and all life not be purer and stronger thereby.

Who knows nothing base, Fears nothing known.

The world is filled with folly and sin, And Love must cling, where it can, I say: For Beauty is easy enough to win; But one isn't loved every day.