Most Glorious Night! Thou Wert Not Sent

The Simple Wordsworth . . . / Who, Both By Precept And Example, Shows / That Prose Is Verse, And Verse Is Merely Prose.

Eternity Forbids Thee To Forget.

I Live, But Live To Die: And, Living, See Nothing To Make Death Hateful, Save An Innate Clinging, A Loathsome And Yet All Invincible Instinct Of Life, Which I Abhor, As I Despise Myself, Yet Cannot Overcome — And So I Live. Would I Had Never Lived!

The Sight Of Blood To Crowds Begets The Thirst Of More, As The First Wine-cup Leads To The Long Revel.

Men Love In Haste, But They Detest At Leisure.