I Live Not In Myself, But I

Romances I Ne'er Read Like Those I Have Seen.

And Hold Up To The Sun My Little Taper.

If We Must Have A Tyrant, Let Him At Least Be A Gentleman Who Has Been Bred To The Business, And Let Us Fall By The Axe And Not By The Butcher's Cleaver.

My Slumbers--if I Slumber--are Not Sleep, But A Continuance Of Enduring Thought, Which Then I Can Resist Not: In My Heart There Is A Vigil, And These Eyes But Close To Look Within; And Yet I Live, And Bear The Aspect And The Form Of Breathing Men.

The Bright Sun Was Extinguish'd, And The Stars Did Wander Darkling In The Eternal Space.