What I Have Left Is From My

Humility And Resignation Are Our Prime Virtues.

Genius Must Be Born, And Never Can Be Taught.

When The Sun Sets, Shadows, That Shew'd At Noon But Small, Appear Most Long And Terrible; So, When We Think Fate Hovers O'er Our Heads, Our Apprehensions Shoot Beyond All Bounds, Owls, Ravens, Crickets Seem The Watch Of Death, Nature's Worst Vermine Scare Her God-like Sons. Ecchoes The Very Leavings Of A Voice, Grow Babling Ghosts, And Call Us To Our Graves: Each Mole-hill Thought Swells To A Huge Olympus, While We Fantastick Dreamers Heave And Puff, And Sweat With An Imagination's Weight.

Death Only This Mysterious Truth Unfolds, The Mighty Soul How Small A Body Holds.

For Those Whom God To Ruin Has Design'd, He Fits For Fate, And First Destroys Their Mind.