Martyred Many Times Must Be Who Would

What Should I Be But Just What I Am?

Oh, Friend, Forget Not, When You Fain Would Note In Me A Beauty That Was Never Mine, How First You Knew Me In A Book I Wrote, How First You Loved Me For A Written Line.

For The Body At Best Is A Bundle Of Aches, Longing For Rest; It Cries When It Wakes.

I Am Not At All In Favor Of Hard Work For Its Own Sake; Many People Who Work Very Hard Indeed Produce Terrible Things, And Should Most Certainly Not Be Encouraged.

When I Can Make Of Ten Small Words A Rope To Hang The World! "i Had You And I Have You Now No More.