The Soul Selects Her Own Society.

Just Girt Me For The Onset With Eternity, When Breath Blew Back, And On The Other Side I Heard Recede The Disappointed Tide!

I Like A Look Of Agony, Because I Know It's True - Men Do Not Sham Convulsion, Nor Simulate, A Throe

Love Is Its Own Rescue; For We, At Our Supremest, Are But Its Trembling Emblems.

The Friend Anguish Reveals Is The Slowest Forgot.

Within Thy Grave! Oh No, But On Some Other Flight - Thou Only Camest To Mankind To Rend It With Good Night