Who Know But He, Whose

Music Resembles Poetry, In Each Are Nameless Graces Which No Methods Teach, And Which A Master Hand Alone Can Reach.

So Man, Who Here Seems Principal Alone, Perhaps Acts Second To Some Sphere Unknown Touches Some Wheel, Or Verges To Some Goal; 'tis But A Part We See, And Not A Whole.

Women Use Lovers As They Do Cards; They Play With Them A While, And When They Have Got All They Can By Them, Throw Them Away, Call For New Ones, And Then Perhaps Lose By The New All They Got By The Old Ones.

A Fellow Feeling Makes Us Wondrous Kind.

A Brave Man Struggling In The Storms Of Fate, And Greatly Falling With A Falling State.