The Wreck Of The Hesperus But The

Thought Takes Man Out Of Servitude, Into Freedom.

The Sun Is Set; And In His Latest Beams Yon Little Cloud Of Ashen Gray And Gold, Slowly Upon The Amber Air Unrolled, The Falling Mantle Of The Prophet Seems.

There's Nothing In This World So Sweet As Love. And Next To Love The Sweetest Thing Is Hate.

That Was The First Sound In The Song Of Love! Scarce More Than Silence Is, And Yet A Sound. Hands Of Invisible Spirits Touch The Strings Of That Mysterious Instrument, The Soul, And Play The Prelude Of Our Fate. We Hear The Voice Prophetic, And Are Not Alone.

My Designs And Labors And Aspirations Are My Only Friends.