That Sweet Sleep Which Medicines All Pain.

I Pant, I Sink, I Tremble, I Expire!

A Pard-like Spirit, Beautiful And Swift.

I Know The Past And Thence I Will Essay To Glean A Warning For The Future, So That Man May Profit By His Errors, And Derive Experience From His Folly; For, When The Power Of Imparting Joy Is Equal To The Will, The Human Soul Requires No Other Heaven.

The Breath Of Accusation Kills An Innocent Name, And Leaves For Lame Acquittal The Poor Life, Which Is A Mask Without It.

For Love And Beauty And Delight, There Is No Death Nor Change.