The Modern Masters Promise Very Little

Ennui, The Demon, Waited At The Threshold Of His Noiseless Refuge, And Drove Away The Stirring Hopes And Enlivening Expectations, Which Form The Better Part Of Life.

But Soon, I Shall Die, And What I Now Feel Be No Longer Felt. Soon These Burning Miseries Will Be Extinct.

Nothing Is So Painful To The Human Mind As A Great And Sudden Change. The Sun Might Shine, Or The Clouds Might Lour: But Nothing Could Appear To Me As It Had Done The Day Before.

I See By Your Eagerness, And The Wonder And Hope Which Your Eyes Express, My Friend, That You Expect To Be In Formed Of The Secret With Which I Am Acquainted. That Cannot Be.

But Her's Was The Misery Of Innocence, Which, Like A Cloud That Passes Over The Fair Moon, For A While Hides, But Cannot Tarnish Its Brightness.