Whatsoever thy birth, Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth.
No ear can hear nor tongue can tell the tortures of the inward hell!
I only know we loved in vain; I only feel-farewell! farewell!
Man is born passionate of body, but with an innate though secret tendency to the love of Good in his main-spring of Mind. But God help us all! It is at present a sad jar of atoms.
Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt In solitude, where we are least alone.
That prose is a verse, and verse is a prose; convincing all, by demonstrating plain – poetic souls delight in prose insane