It Is For God To Punish Wicked

I Cannot Love Thee; Thou 'rt Worse Than Thy Brother. Go, Say Thy Prayers, Child, And Ask God's Pardon. I Doubt Thy Mother And I Must Rue That We Ever Reared Thee!

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'm Happiest When Most Away I Can Bear My Soul From Its Home Of Clay On A Windy Night When The Moon Is Bright And The Eye Can Wander Through Worlds Of Light— When I Am Not And None Beside— Nor Earth Nor Sea Nor Cloudless Sky— But Only Spirit Wandering Wide Through Infinite Immensity.

By This Curious Turn Of Disposition I Have Gained The Reputation Of Deliberate Heartlessness; How Undeserved, I Alone Can Appreciate.

I'll Walk Where My Own Nature Would Be Leading: It Vexes Me To Choose Another Guide: Where The Grey Flocks In Ferny Glens Are Feeding; Where The Wild Wind Blows On The Mountain-side.