It Is Much Less What

Life Hath More Awe Than Death.

Dewdrops, Nature's Tears, Which She Sheds In Her Own Breast For The Fair Which Die. The Sun Insists On Gladness; But At Night, When He Is Gone, Poor Nature Loves To Weep.

For Ivy Climbs The Crumbling Hall To Decorate Decay.

As The Master So The Valet.

Evil And Good Are God's Right Hand And Left.