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No one is so accursed by fate No one so utterly desolate But some heart though unknown Responds unto his own.

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Ah, Nothing is too late, till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate.

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Speaking words of endearment where words of comfort availed not.

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Art is the child of nature in whom we trace the features of the mothers face.

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Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions.

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Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;Thy fate is the common fate of all,Into each life some rain must fa...more

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I have you fast in my fortress,And will not let you depart,But put you down into the dungeonIn the round-tower of my heart.And there will I keep you f...more