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

Self-love for ever creeps out, like a snake, to sting anything which happens to stumble upon it.

The image of Eternity--the throne Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.

Know ye not who would be free themselves must strike the blow? by their right arms the conquest must be wrought?

I feel my immortality over sweep all pains, all tears, all time, all fears, - and peal, like the eternal thunders of the deep, into my ears, this truth, - thou livest forever!

I am so changeable, being everything by turns and nothing long - such a strange melange of good and evil.

For the night Shows stars and women in a better light.