Let Us Think Less Of

The Heart Is Its Own Fate.

Mind And Night Will Meet, Though In Silence, Like Forbidden Lovers.

Burn To Be Great, Pay Not Thy Praise To Lofty Things Alone. The Plains Are Everlasting As The Hills, The Bard Cannot Have Two Pursuits; Aught Else Comes On The Mind With The Like Shock As Though Two Worlds Had Gone To War, And Met In Air.

For Ivy Climbs The Crumbling Hall To Decorate Decay.

Stars Which Stand As Thick As Dewdrops On The Field Of Heaven.