My Days Are In The Yellow Leaf;

Of Religion I Know Nothing -- At Least, In Its Favor.

Of All The Horrid, Hideous Notes Of Woe, Sadder Than Owl-songs Or The Midnight Blast; Is That Portentous Phrase, "i Told You So.

There Is No Such Thing As A Life Of Passion Any More Than A Continuous Earthquake, Or An Eternal Fever. Besides, Who Would Ever Shave Themselves In Such A State?

So The Struck Eagle, Stretch'd Upon The Plain, No More Through Rolling Clouds To Soar Again, View'd His Own Feather On The Fatal Dart, And Wing'd The Shaft That Quiver'd In His Heart.

I Am Surrounded Here By Parsons And Methodists, But As You Will See, Not Infested With The Mania.