When I Was At Home

I Have Almost Forgotten The Taste Of Fears: The Time Has Been, My Senses Would Have Cool’d To Hear A Night-shriek; And My Fell Of Hair Would At A Dismal Treatise Rouse And Stir As Life Were In’t: I Have Supt Full With Horrors; Direness, Familiar To My Slaughterous Thoughts, Cannot Once Start Me.

There's No Better Sign Of A Brave Mind Than A Hard Hand.

Love Asks Me No Questions, And Gives Me Endless Support.

O Horror! Horror! Horror! Tongue Nor Heart Cannot Conceive Nor Name Thee!

Of All The Flowers, Me Thinks A Rose Is Best.