Worse Than A Bloody Hand

The Pleasure That Is In Sorrow Is Sweeter Than The Pleasure Of Pleasure Itself.

I Love All Waste And Solitary Places.

I Cannot Endure The Horror, The Evil, Which Comes To Self In Solitude.

Fame, Power, And Gold, Are Loved For Their Own Sakes - Are Worshipped With A Blind, Habitual Idolatry.

... A Wild Dissolving Bliss Over My Frame He Breathed, Approaching Near, And Bent His Eyes Of Kindling Tenderness Near Mine, And On My Lips Impressed A Lingering Kiss