I Love To Doubt As Well As

O Foolish Anxiety Of Wretched Man, How Inconclusive Are The Arguments Which Make Thee Beat Thy Wings Below!

Art, As Far As It Is Able, Follows Nature, As A Pupil Imitates His Master; Thus Your Art Must Be, As It Were, God's Grandchild.

The Experience Of This Sweet Life.

This Sorrow Weighs Upon The Melancholy Souls Of Those Who Lived Without Infamy Or Praise.

Thy Soul Is By Vile Fear Assailed, Which Oft So Overcasts A Man, That He Recoils From Noblest Resolution, Like A Beast At Some False Semblance In The Twilight Gloom.