I Gave Him My Heart, And He

He'll Love And Hate Equally Under Cover, And Esteem It A Species Of Impertinence To Loved Or Hated Again.

Vain Are The Thousand Creeds That Move Men's Hearts, Unutterably Vain; Worthless As Withered Weeds, Or Idlest Froth Amid The Boundless Main.

He Turned, As He Spoke, A Peculiar Look In Her Direction, A Look Of Hatred Unless He Has A Most Perverse Set Of Facial Muscles That Will Not, Like Those Of Other People, Interpret The Language Of His Soul.

I Cannot Express It: But Surely You And Everybody Have A Notion That There Is, Or Should Be, An Existence Of Yours Beyond You.

The Night Is Darkening Round Me, The Wild Winds Coldly Blow; But A Tyrant Spell Has Bound Me, And I Cannot, Cannot Go.