I have not loved the world, nor the world me, but let us part fair foes; I do believe, though I have found them not, that there may be words which are things, hopes which will not deceive, and virtues which are merciful, or weave snares for the failing: I would also deem o'er others' griefs that some sincerely grieve; that two, or one, are almost what they seem, that goodness is no name, and happiness no dream.

And Doubt and Discord step 'twixt thine and thee.

That low vice, curiosity!

No words suffice the secret soul to show, For truth denies all eloquence to woe.

Alas! how deeply painful is all payment!

I see before me the gladiator lie.

The poetry of speech.