There's Not A Sea The Passenger E'er

Let None Think To Fly The Danger For Soon Or Late Love Is His Own Avenger.

Critics Are Already Made.

I Live Not In Myself, But I Become Portion Of That Around Me: And To Me High Mountains Are A Feeling, But The Hum Of Human Cities Torture.

The Devil Hath Not, In All His Quiver's Choice, An Arrow For The Heart Like A Sweet Voice.

Accursed Be The City Where The Laws Would Stifle Nature's!