Vice Stings Us Even In Our Pleasures,

In Man Or Woman, But Far Most In Man, And Most Of All In Man That Ministers, And Serves The Altar, In My Soul I Loathe All Affectation. 'tis My Perfect Scorn: Object Of My Implacable Disgust.

I Am Out Of Humanity's Reach.

The Darkest Day, If You Live Till Tomorrow, Will Have Passed Away.

The Nurse Sleeps Sweetly, Hired To Watch The Sick, / Whom, Snoring, She Disturbs.

Oh To Have A Lodge In Some Vast Wilderness. Where Rumors Of Oppression And Deceit, Of Unsuccessful And Successful Wars May Never Reach Me Anymore.