How Can A Bird That Is Born

Works Of Art Can Only Be Produc'd In Perfection Where The Man Is Either In Affluence Or Is Above The Care Of It.

Nothing Is Real Beyond Imaginative Patterns Men Make Of Reality.

My Brother Starv'd Between Two Walls,his Children's Cry My Soul Appalls

The Woman That Does Not Love Your Frowns Will Never Embrace Your Smiles.

The Sick Rose O Rose, Thou Art Sick. The Invisible Worm That Flies In The Night In The Howling Storm Has Found Out Thy Bed Of Crimson Joy, And His Dark Secret Love Does Thy Life Destroy.