Any Relic Of The Dead Is Precious,

Riches I Hold In Light Esteem, And Love I Laugh To Scorn, And Lust Of Fame Was But A Dream That Vanished With The Morn. And If I Pray, The Only Prayer That Moves My Lips For Me Is, 'leave The Heart That Now I Bear, And Give Me Liberty!' Yes, As My Swift Days Near Their Goal, 'tis All That I Implore - In Life And Death, A Chainless Soul, With Courage To Endure.

It Was Not The Thorn Bending To The Honeysuckles, But The Honeysuckles Embracing The Thorn.

A Heaven So Clear, An Earth So Calm, So Sweet, So Soft, So Hushed An Air; And, Deepening Still The Dreamlike Charm, Wild Moor-sheep Feeding Everywhere.

And From The Midst Of Cheerless Gloom I Passed To Bright Unclouded Day.

The Old Church Tower And Garden Wall Are Black With Autumn Rain And Dreary Winds Foreboding Call The Darkness Down Again