I Love To Doubt As Well As

Thou Shall Know By Experience How Salt The Savor Is Of Others' Bread, And How Sad A Path It Is To Climb And Descend Another's Stairs.

Still Desiring, We Live Without Hope.

He Who Sees A Need And Waits To Be Asked For Help Is As Unkind As If He Had Refused It.

Ah! Justice Of Our God! Who Else Could Stow Such Travails New And Pains As Met My Glance!

Those Ancients Who In Poetry Presented The Golden Age, Who Sang Its Happy State, Perhaps, In Their Parnassus, Dreamt This Place. Here, Mankind's Root Was Innocent; And Here Were Every Fruit And Never-ending Spring; These Streams--the Nectar Of Which Poets Sing.