We Grow Gray In Our Spirit Long

Your Absence Of Mind We Have Borne, Till Your Presence Of Body Came To Be Called In Question By It.

The Harp That Once Through Tara's Halls The Soul Of Music Shed, Now Hangs As Mute On Tara's Walls As If That Soul Were Fled. So Sleeps The Pride Of Former Days, So Glory's Thrill Is O'er; And Hearts That Once Beat High For Praise Now Feel That Pulse No More.

Reader, If You Are Gifted With Nerves Like Mine, Aspire To Any Character But That Of A Wit.

As Half In Shade And Half In Sun This World Along Its Path Advances, May That Side The Sun 's Upon Be All That E'er Shall Meet Thy Glances!

I Love To Lose Myself In Other Men's Minds.... Books Think For Me.