For her thoughts then feed on their own sweet store. That hath pleasure and pride, in a prize, when won? L. E. L. Alas, the love of woman! it is known To them, but mockeries of the past alone. . . . ← Byron. The maid that loves Goes out to sea upon a shattered plank It is a fearful thing Young. To love as I love thee; to feel the world- I have no hope, that does not dream for thee; I have no joy, that is not shared by thee; I have no fear, that does not dread for thee. He is the star round which my thoughts revolve L. E. L. The Ancestress. |