The Sight Of Blood To Crowds Begets

I Love Not Man The Less, But Nature More.

My Boat Is On The Shore, And My Bark Is On The Sea.

None Are So Desolate But Something Dear, Dearer Than Self, Possesses Or Possess'd A Thought, And Claims The Homage Of A Tear.

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.

The Image Of Eternity--the Throne Of The Invisible; Even From Out Thy Slime The Monsters Of The Deep Are Made; Each Zone Obeys Thee; Thou Goest Forth, Dread, Fathomless, Alone.