It Is War's Prize To

The Will Is Deaf And Hears No Heedful Friends.

It Is Not, Nor It Cannot, Come To Good, But Break, My Heart, For I Must Hold My Tongue.

I Was Adored Once Too.

Reason Thus With Life: If I Do Lose Thee, I Do Lose A Thing That None But Fools Would Keep.

Of One That Lov'd Not Wisely But Too Well.