I find I cannot exist without Poetry
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget.
It ought to come like the leaves to the trees, or it better not come at all.
That which is creative must create itself.
Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by? ---"On death
O Solitude! If I must with thee dwell, Let it not be among the jumbled heap of murky buildings