These may be read and enjoyed in the fullness of their beauty---a beauty which is like that of some still night when the cypress point to heaven as burned-out torches against the dusky sky, when the sickle of the harvest moon rides high above, and as the ivy shimmers and trembles on the moonlit ruins, when the pause of solemn stillness is broken only by the hooting of a moping owl, or by the amorous notes of the nightingale---a constant reminder that there is Death as well as Love.