With Me Poetry Has Not Been A

A Short Story Must Have A Single Mood And Every Sentence Must Build Towards It.

And Now Have I Not Told You That What You Mistake For Madness Is But Overacuteness Of The Senses?

There Was Much Of The Beautiful, Much Of The Wanton, Much Of The Bizarre, Something Of The Terrible, And Not A Little Of That Which Might Have Excited Disgust.

Sound Loves To Revel In A Summer Night.

Once Upon A Midnight Dreary