But 'midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess, And roam along, the world's tired denizen, With none who bless us, none whom we can bless.

I have a notion that gamblers are as happy as most people - being always excited.

What deep wounds ever closed without a scar? The hearts bleed longest, and heals but to wear That which disfigures it.

That prose is a verse, and verse is a prose; convincing all, by demonstrating plain – poetic souls delight in prose insane

What want these outlaws conquerors should have but history's purchased page to call them great?

Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.

There is a tear for all who die, A mourner o'er the humblest grave.