Into the nothingness of scorn and noise, Into the living sea of waking dreams, Where there is neither sense of life or joys, But the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems; And e'en the dearest--that I love the best-- Are strange--nay, rather stranger than the rest.

Old April wanes, and her last dewy morn Her death-bed steeps in tears; to hail the May New blooming blossoms neath the sun are born, And all poor April's charms are swept away.

I never saw so sweet a face. As that I stood before. My heart has left it dwelling place ... and can return no more.

I was Byron and Shakespeare formerly.

I am gennerally understood tho I do not use that awkward squad of pointings called commas colons semicolons etc.

For Nature is love, and finds haunts for true love, Where nothing can hear or intrude; It hides from the eagle and joins with the dove, In beautiful green solitude.

Crowded places, I shunned them as noises too rude / And flew to the silence of sweet solitude.