No Coward Soul Is Mine, No Trembler

Proud People Breed Sad Sorrows For Themselves.

Treachery And Violence Are Spears Pointed At Both Ends; They Wound Those Who Resort To Them Worse Than Their Enemies.

A Heaven So Clear, An Earth So Calm, So Sweet, So Soft, So Hushed An Air; And, Deepening Still The Dreamlike Charm, Wild Moor-sheep Feeding Everywhere.

My Love For Heathcliff Resembles The Eternal Rocks Beneath: A Source Of Little Visible Delight, But Necessary.

Still Let My Tyrants Know, I Am Not Doomed To Wear Year After Year In Gloom, And Desolate Despair; A Messenger Of Hope Comes Every Night To Me, And Offers For Short Life, Eternal Liberty.