Keats Longed For Fame, But Longed Above

My Soul Is Not A Palace Of The Past.

Tyrants Are But The Spawn Of Ignorance, Begotten By The Slaves They Trample On.

But Civlyzation Doos Git Forrid Sometimes Upon A Powder-cart.

Tiny Salmoneus Of The Air His Mimic Bolts The Firefly Threw.

Fate Loves The Fearless.