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ReuT)....S ingle Blessedness. 
But earlier is the rose distilled, 
Than that which withering on the virgin thorn 
Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness. 
ShaJcspeare. 
Love not, love not; the thing you love may change; 
The rosy lip may cease-to smile on you, 
The kindly beaming eye grow cold and strange, 
The heart still warmly heat, and not for you. 
Mrs. Norton. 
Alone! alone! how drear it is always to be alone! 
In such a depth of wilderness, the only thinking one! 
The waters in their path^ rejoice, the trees together 
sleep— 
But I have not one silver voice upon my ear to creep I 
Willis. 
Do any thing but love; or, if thou lovest, 
And art a woman, hide thy love from him 
Whom thou dost worship. Never let him know 
How dear he is; flit liko a bird before him; 
Lead him from tree to tree, from flower to flqwer; 
But be not won; or thou wilt, like that bird, 
When caught and caged, be left to pine neglected, 
And perish in forgetfulness. 
Miss Landon. 
_ 
