Out Of My Own Great Woe I

God Will Pardon: That's His Business.

Perfumes Are The Feelings Of Flowers.

She Resembles The Venus De Milo: She Is Very Old, Has No Teeth, And Has White Spots On Her Yellow Skin.

The Sun's Sweet Ray Is Hovering Discovered.

Immortality—dazzling Idea! Who First Imagined Thee! Was It Some Jolly Burgher Of Nuremburg, Who With Night-cap On His Head, And White Clay Pipe In Mouth, Sat On Some Pleasant Summer Evening Before His Door, And Reflected In All His Comfort, That It Would Be Right Pleasant, If, With Unextinguishable Pipe, And Endless Breath, He Could Thus Vegetate Onwards For A Blessed Eternity? Or Was It A Lover, Who In The Arms Of His Loved One, Thought The Immortality-thought, And That Because He Could Think And Feel Naught Beside!—love! Immortality!