But what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry.

And men, whose reason long was blind, From cells of madness unconfined, Oft lose whole years of darker mind.

I cannot rest from travel; I will drink Life to the lees.

Where love could walk with banish'd Hope no more.

Thoroughly to believe in one's own self, so one's self were thorough, were to do great things.

Jewels five-words-long, That on the stretch'd forefinger of all Time Sparkle forever.

We cannot be kind to each other here for even an hour. We whisper, and hint, and chuckle and grin at our brother's shame; however you take it we men are a little breed.