Your Presence Is A Moral Poison That

I Cannot Love Thee; Thou 'rt Worse Than Thy Brother. Go, Say Thy Prayers, Child, And Ask God's Pardon. I Doubt Thy Mother And I Must Rue That We Ever Reared Thee!

He’s More Myself Than I Am

Any Relic Of The Dead Is Precious, If They Were Valued Living.

May You Not Rest, As Long As I Am Living. You Said I Killed You - Haunt Me, Then.

I'm Happiest When Most Away I Can Bear My Soul From Its Home Of Clay On A Windy Night When The Moon Is Bright And The Eye Can Wander Through Worlds Of Light— When I Am Not And None Beside— Nor Earth Nor Sea Nor Cloudless Sky— But Only Spirit Wandering Wide Through Infinite Immensity.