Man Is In Part Divine, A Troubled

So For A Good Old-gentlemanly Vice, I Think I Must Take Up With Avarice.

Friendship Is Love Without His Wings!

I See Before Me The Gladiator Lie.

I Speak Not Of Men's Creeds—they Rest Between Man And His Maker.

None Are So Desolate But Something Dear, Dearer Than Self, Possesses Or Possess'd A Thought, And Claims The Homage Of A Tear.