And I Would Hear Yet Once Before

But 'midst The Crowd, The Hum, The Shock Of Men, To Hear, To See, To Feel, And To Possess, And Roam Along, The World's Tired Denizen, With None Who Bless Us, None Whom We Can Bless.

This Quiet Sail Is As A Noiseless Wing To Waft Me From Distraction.

I Only Know We Loved In Vain; I Only Feel-farewell! Farewell!

That Famish'd People Must Be Slowly Nurst, And Fed By Spoonfuls, Else They Always Burst.

Self Praise Is No Praise At All.