This World To Me Is Like A

The Native Hue Of Resolution Is Sicklied O'er With The Pale Cast Of Thought; And Enterprises Of Great Pitch And Moment, With This Regard, Their Currents Turn Awry, And Lose The Name Of Action.

Can I Go Forward When My Heart Is Here? Turn Back, Dull Earth, And Find Thy Centre Out.

The Cheek Is Apter Than The Tongue To Tell An Errand.

Having Nothing, Nothing Can He Lose.

Teeth Hadst Thou In Thy Head When Thou Wast Born, To Signify Thou Camest To Bite The World.