I Loved My Country, And I Hated

Sleep Hath Its Own World, And The Wide Realm Of Wild Reality.

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.

Happiness Was Born A Twin.

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

Then Stirs The Feeling Infinite, So Felt In Solitude, Where We Are Least Alone.