All's Love, Yet All's Law.

It Was Roses, Roses, All The Way, With Myrtle Mixed In My Path Like Mad.

That Great Brow And The Spirit-small Hand Propping It.

Thou Art My Single Day, God Lends To Leaven What Were All Earth Else, With A Feel Of Heaven.

Stung By The Splendour Of A Sudden Thought.

The Candid Incline To Surmise Of Late That The Christian Faith Proves False.