I Stood In Unimaginable Trance And Agony

Cant Is The Parrot Talk Of A Profession.

Alone, Alone, All, All Alone, Alone On A Wide Wide Sea! And Never Saint Took Pity On My Soul In Agony

Never Pursue Literature As A Trade.

Remorse Is As The Heart In Which It Grows; If That Be Gentle, It Drops Balmy Dews Of True Repentance; But If Proud And Gloomy, It Is The Poison Tree, That Pierced To The Inmost, Weeps Only Tears Of Poison.

No Voice; But Oh - The Silence Sank Like Music On My Heart.