The Happiness Of Life Is Made Up

When A Man Mistakes His Thoughts For Persons And Things, He Is Mad.

Our Quaint Metaphysical Opinions, In An Hour Of Anguish, Are Like Playthings By The Bedside Of A Child Deathly Sick.

No Voice; But Oh - The Silence Sank Like Music On My Heart.

Tranquillity! Thou Better Name Than All The Family Of Fame.

Ah! From The Soul Itself Must Issue Forth A Light, A Glory, A Fair Luminous Cloud Enveloping The Earth.