Look On The Grave Where

Vain Are The Thousand Creeds That Move Men's Hearts, Unutterably Vain; Worthless As Withered Weeds, Or Idlest Froth Amid The Boundless Main.

You Have Left Me So Long To Struggle Against Death, Alone, That I Feel And See Only Death! I Feel Like Death!

Your Presence Is A Moral Poison That Would Contaminate The Most Virtuous

I Am Now Quite Cured Of Seeking Pleasure In Society, Be It Country Or Town. A Sensible Man Ought To Find Sufficient Company In Himself.

I Have To Remind Myself To Breathe -- Almost To Remind My Heart To Beat!