There's Daggers In Men's Smiles.

An Envious Fever Of Pale And Bloodless Emulation.

I Loved Ophelia. Forty Thousand Brothers Could Not, With All Their Quantity Of Love, Make Up My Sum.

Evermore Thanks, The Exchequer Of The Poor

How Easy It Is For The Proper-false In Woman's Waxen Hearts To Set Their Forms!

You Are An Alchemist; Make Gold Of That.