The Gloomy Shade Of Death.

Life... Is A Paradise To What We Know Of Death.

Hate Pollutes The Mind.

O Time, Thou Must Untangle This, Not I. It Is Too Hard A Knot For Me T'untie.

Grim-visaged War Hath Smoothed His Wrinkled Front; And Now, Instead Of Mounting Barbed Steeds To Fright The Souls Of Fearful Adversaries, He Capers Nimbly In A Lady's Chamber To The Lascivious Pleasing Of A Lute.

The Daintiest Last, To Make The End Most Sweet.