Death, Thou Art Infinite; It Is Life

A Poet Not In Love Is Out At Sea; He Must Have A Lay-figure.

For Ivy Climbs The Crumbling Hall To Decorate Decay.

Remember That Thy Heart Will Shed Its Pleasures As Thine Eye Its Tears, And Both Leave Loathsome Furrows.

We Love And Live In Power; It Is The Spirit's End. Mind Must Subdue; To Conquer Is Its Life.

Youth Might Be Wise; We Suffer Less From Pains Than Pleasures.