The Bright Sun Was Extinguish'd, And The

I Think The Worst Woman That Ever Existed Would Have Made A Man Of Very Passable Reputation -- They Are All Better Than Us And Their Faults Such As They Are Must Originate With Ourselves.

I Have Imbibed Such A Love For Money That I Keep Some Sequins In A Drawer To Count, And Cry Over Them Once A Week.

I Live Not In Myself, But I Become Portion Of That Around Me: And To Me High Mountains Are A Feeling, But The Hum Of Human Cities Torture.

But 'why Then Publish?' There Are No Rewards Of Fame Or Profit When The World Grows Weary. I Ask In Turn Why Do You Play At Cards? Why Drink? Why Read? To Make Some Hour Less Dreary. It Occupies Me To Turn Back Regards On What I've Seen Or Pondered, Sad Or Cheery, And What I Write I Cast Upon The Stream To Swim Or Sink. I Have Had At Least My Dream.

Oh That The Desert Were My Dwelling-place, With One Fair Spirit For My Minister