Love is dead; let lovers' eyes Locked in endless dreams Th' extreme of all extremes Ope no more, for now Love dies.

Truth is child of time.

He hath shook hands with time.

There's not a hair Sticks on my head but, like a leaden plummet, It sinks me to the grave: I must creep thither; The journey is not long.

Dearest, I feel certain I am going mad again. I feel we can't go through another of these terrible times. And I shan't recover this time. I begin to hear voice…

And with the morn those angel faces smile Which I have loved long since and lost awhile.

If I had thought thou couldst have died, I might not weep for thee; But I forgot, when by thy side, That thou couldst mortal be.