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.

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

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

My fears are agitated to an extreme degree and the dread of death involves me in a stupor of chilling indisposition.

Ah, words are poor receipts for what time hath stole away.

How oft a summer shower has started me; to seek the shelter of a hollow tree

So dull and dark are the November days. The lazy mist high up the evening curled, And now the morn quite hides in smoke and haze; The place we occupy seems all the world.