He Makes A Solitude, And Calls It

Cervantes Smiled Spain's Chivalry Away.

I Shall Soon Be Six-and-twenty. Is There Anything In The Future That Can Possibly Console Us For Not Being Always Twenty-five?

What Deep Wounds Ever Closed Without A Scar? The Hearts Bleed Longest, And Heals But To Wear That Which Disfigures It.

I Am So Changeable, Being Everything By Turns And Nothing Long - Such A Strange Melange Of Good And Evil.

He Who Is Only Just Is Cruel; Who Upon The Earth Would Live Were All Judged Justly?