Don't Cry Upon You Losses

Why, All The Saints And Sages Who Discuss'd Of The Two Worlds So Wisely - They Are Thrust Like Foolish Prophets Forth; Their Words To Scorn Are Scattered, And Their Mouths Are Stopped With Dust.

Men Talk Of Heaven, - There Is No Heaven But Here; Men Talk Of Hell, - There Is No Hell But Here; Men Of Hereafters Talk And Future Lives, - O Love, There Is No Other Life - But Here.

Ah Love! Could You And I With Him Conspire To Grasp This Sorry Scheme Of Things Entire Would We Not Shatter It To Bits-and Then Re-mould It Nearer To The Heart's Desire?

The Thoughtful Soul To Solitude Retires.

I Hide My Grief, Just Like The Blessed Birds Hide Themselves When They Are Preparing To Die, My Love.