My case is a species of madness, only that it is a derangement of the Volition, and not of the intellectual faculties.

Boys and girls, And women, that would groan to see a child Pull off an insect's leg, all read of war, The best amusement for our morning meal.

For she belike hath drunken deep Of all the blessedness of sleep.

All nature seems at work.

Oh, the difficulty of fixing the attention of men on the world within them!

A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune.

The many men, so beautiful! And they all dead did lie: And a thousand thousand slimy things Lived on; and so did I.