A Dream Has Power To Poison Sleep.

Man, Who Wert Once A Despot And A Slave, A Dupe And A Deceiver! A Decay, A Traveller From The Cradle To The Grave Through The Dim Night Of This Immortal Day.

The Quick Dreams, The Passion-winged Ministers Of Thought.

In Each Human Heart Terror Survives The Ravin It Has Gorged: The Loftiest Fear All That They Would Disdain To Think Were True: Hypocrisy And Custom Make Their Minds The Fanes Of Many A Worship, Now Outworn. They Dare Not Devise Good For Man's Estate, And Yet They Know Not That They Do Not Dare.

I Love Tranquil Solitude And Such Society As Is Quiet, Wise, And Good.

Men Must Reap The Things They Sow, Force From Force Must Ever Flow.