I Learned To Love Despair.

And Mocha's Berry, From Arabia Pure, In Small Fine China Cups, Came In At Last. Gold Cups Of Filigree, Made To Secure The Hand From Burning, Underneath Them Place. Cloves, Cinnamon And Saffron, Too, Were Boiled Up With The Coffee, Which, I Think, They Spoiled.

No Hand Can Make The Clock Strike For Me The Hours That Are Passed.

Whenever I Meet With Anything Agreeable In This World It Surprises Me So Much - And Pleases Me So Much (when My Passions Are Not Interested In One Way Or The Other) That I Go On Wondering For A Week To Come.

There Is Pleasure In The Pathless Woods.

I Learned To Love Despair.