Here Let Dead Poetry Rise

The Mind Which Is Created Quick To Love, Is Responsive To Everything That Is Pleasing, Soon As By Pleasure It Is Awakened Into Activity. Your Apprehensive Faculty Draws An Impression From A Real Object, And Unfolds It Within You, So That It Makes The Mind Turn Thereto. And If, Being Turned, It Inclines Towards It, That Inclination Is Love; That Is Nature, Which Through Pleasure Is Bound Anew Within You.

Love, Who Insists That Love Shall Mutual Be, Link'd Me To Him With Charm Strong As Our Fates; Even Now It Leaves Me Not, As Thou Dost See.

Lost Are We, And Are Only So Far Punished, That Without Hope We Live On In Desire.

There Is No Greater Sorrow Than To Recall Happiness In Times Of Misery.

Be As A Tower Firmly Set; Shakes Not Its Top For Any Blast That Blows.