Had Sigh'd To Many, Though He Loved

I Can't But Say It Is An Awkward Sight To See One's Native Land Receding Through The Growing Waters; It Unmans One Quite, Especially When Life Is Rather New.

And What Is Writ Is Writ - / Would It Were Worthier!

Our Life Is Two Fold Sleep Hath Its Own World, A Boundary Between The Things Misnamed Death And Existence Sleep Hath Its Own World, And A Wide Realm Of Wild Reality.

A Thousand Years May Scare Form A State. An Hour May Lay It In Ruins.

In Solitude, Where We Are Least Alone.