As Long As I Retain My Feeling

Who Falls From All He Knows Of Bliss, Cares Little Into What Abyss.

The Dew Of Compassion Is A Tear.

I Cannot Conceive Why People Will Always Mix Up My Own Character And Opinions With Those Of The Imaginary Beings Which, As A Poet, I Have The Right And Liberty To Draw.

Next To Dressing For A Rout Or Ball, Undressing Is A Woe.

This Man Is Freed From Servile Bands, Of Hope To Rise, Or Fear To Fall; Lord Of Himself, Though Not Of Lands, And Leaving Nothing, Yet Hath All.