Opinions Are Made To Be Changed Or

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

My Altars Are The Mountains And The Ocean.

Time Strips Our Illusions Of Their Hue, And One By One In Turn, Some Grand Mistake Casts Off Its Bright Skin Yearly Like The Snake.

And The Commencement Of Atonement Is The Sense Of Its Necessity.

And Dreams In Their Development Have Breath, And Tears, And Tortures, And The Touch Of Joy; They Have A Weight Upon Our Waking Thoughts, They Take A Weight From Off Our Waking Toils, They Do Divide Our Being.