In commitment, we dash the hopes of a thousand potential selves.
Who tracks the steps of glory to the grave?
This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction.
When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall; And when Rome falls--the World.
Glory, like the phoenix 'midst her fires, Exhales her odours, blazes, and expires.
I cannot conceive why people will always mix up my own character and opinions with those of the imaginary beings which, as a poet, I have the right and liberty to draw.