The Night Is Darkening Round

I Cannot Love Thee; Thou 'rt Worse Than Thy Brother. Go, Say Thy Prayers, Child, And Ask God's Pardon. I Doubt Thy Mother And I Must Rue That We Ever Reared Thee!

I Am Now Quite Cured Of Seeking Pleasure In Society, Be It Country Or Town.

Cold Inthe Earthand The Deepsnow Piled Abovethee, Far, Far, Removed, Cold In The Dreary Grave! Have I Forgot, My Only Love, To Love Thee, Severed At Last Bytime's All-serving Wave?

The Lord Help Us!' He Soliloquised In An Undertone Of Peevish Displeasure, While Relieving Me Of My Horse: Looking, Meantime, In My Face So Sourly That I Charitably Conjectured He Must Have Need Of Divine Aid To Digest His Dinner, And His Pious Ejaculation Had No Reference To My Unexpected Advent.

If He Loved With All The Powers Of His Puny Being, He Couldn't Love As Much In Eighty Years As I Could In A Day.