Worse Than A Bloody Hand Is A

The Pilgrim Of Eternity, Whose Fame Over His Living Head Like Heaven Is Bent, An Early But Enduring Monument, Came, Veiling All The Lightnings Of His Song In Sorrow.

Our Adonais Has Drunk Poisonoh! What Deaf And Viperous Murderer Could Crown Life's Early Cup With Such A Draught Of Woe?

Within My Heart Is The Lamp Of Love, And That Is Day!

The Young Moon Has Fed Her Exhausted Horn With The Sunset's Fire.

I Love Tranquil Solitude And Such Society As Is Quiet, Wise, And Good.