Much Have I Traveled In The Realms

He, Who Is Gone, Was One Of The Very Kindest Friends I Possessed, And Yet He Was Not Kinder Perhaps To Me, Than To Others. His Intense Mind And Powerful Feelings Would, I Truly Believe, Have Done The World Some Service, Had His Life Been Spared But He Was Of Too Sensitive A Nature And Thus He Was Destroyed!

There Is Nothing Stable In The World; Uproar's Your Only Music.

I Almost Wish We Were Butterflies And Liv'd But Three Summer Days - Three Such Days With You I Could Fill With More Delight Than Fifty Common Years Could Ever Contain.

On A Lone Winter Evening, When The Frost Has Wrought A Silence.

Thou Art A Dreaming Thing, A Fever Of Thyself.