Whatever Hath Been Written Shall Remain, Nor

As To The Pure Mind All Things Are Pure, So To The Poetic Mind All Things Are Poetical.

Whatever Poet, Orator, Or Sage May Say Of It, Old Age Is Still Old Age.

More And More Do I Feel, As I Advance In Life, How Little We Really Know Of Each Other. Friendship Seems To Me Like The Touch Of Musical-glasses--it Is Only Contact; But The Glasses Themselves, And Their Contents, Remain Quite Distinct And Unmingled.

Time Has Laid His Hand Upon My Heart, Gently, Not Smiting It, But As A Harper Lays His Open Palm Upon His Harp, To Deaden Its Vibrations.

To Be Left Alone, And Face To Face With My Own Crime, Had Been Just Retribution.