If Something Is Not Beautiful, It Is

He, Who Is Gone, Was One Of The Very Kindest Friends I Possessed, And Yet He Was Not Kinder Perhaps To Me, Than To Others. His Intense Mind And Powerful Feelings Would, I Truly Believe, Have Done The World Some Service, Had His Life Been Spared But He Was Of Too Sensitive A Nature And Thus He Was Destroyed!

There Is A Budding Tomorrow In Midnight.

You Might Curb Your Magnanimity, And Be More Of An Artist, And Load Every Rift Of Your Subject With Ore.

Of Love, That Fairest Joys Give Most Unrest.

There Is Nothing Stable In The World; Uproar's Your Only Music.