Joseph Is The Wearisomest And

Love Is Like The Wild Rose-briar; Friendship Like The Holly-tree. The Holly Is Dark When The Rose-briar Blooms, But Which Will Bloom Most Constantly?

Hereafter She Is Only My Sister In Name; Not Because I Disown Her, But Because She Has Disowned Me.

And, Even Yet, I Dare Not Let It Languish, Dare Not Indulge In Memory's Rapturous Pain; Once Drinking Deep Of That Divinest Anguish, How Could I Seek The Empty World Again?

It Is Hard To Forgive, And To Look At Those Eyes, And Feel Those Wasted Hands,' He Answered. 'kiss Me Again; And Don’t Let Me See Your Eyes! I Forgive What You Have Done To Me. I Love My Murderer—but Yours! How Can I?

If I Could I Would Always Work In Silence And Obscurity, And Let My Efforts Be Known By Their Results.