A Thirst For Gold, The Beggar's Vice,

In Itself A Thought, A Slumbering Thought Is Capable Of Years; And Curdles A Long Life Into One Hour.

There Is Music In All Things, If Men Had Ears.

So Do The Dark In Soul Expire, Or Live Like Scorpion Girt By Fire; So Writhes The Mind Remorse Hath Riven, Unfit For Earth, Undoom'd For Heaven, Darkness Above, Despair Beneath, Around It Flame, Within It Death.

I Have Not Loved The World, Nor The World Me.

So Much Alarmed That She Is Quite Alarming