He Makes A Solitude, And Calls It

The Cold, The Changed, Perchance The Dead, Anew, The Mourn'd, The Loved, The Lost,-too Many, Yet How Few!

To What Gulfs A Single Deviation From The Track Of Human Duties Leads Even Those Who Claim The Homage Of Mankind As Their Born Due, And Find It, Till They Forfeit It Themselves!

Know Ye The Land Where The Cypress And Myrtle Are Emblems Of Deeds That Are Done In Their Clime? Where The Rage Of The Vulture, The Love Of The Turtle, Now Melt Into Sorrow, Now Madden To Crime!

Of Religion I Know Nothing -- At Least, In Its Favor.

Man Marks The Earth With Ruin - His Control Stops With The Shore.