I Cannot See What Flowers Are At

Real Are The Dreams Of Gods, And Smoothly Pass Their Pleasures In A Long Immortal Dream.

I Have Two Luxuries To Brood Over In My Walks, Your Loveliness And The Hour Of My Death. O That I Could Have Possession Of Them Both In The Same Minute.

My Heart Aches, And A Drowsy Numbness Pains/ My Sense, As Though Of Hemlock I Had Drunk.

I Would Jump Down Etna For Any Public Good - But I Hate A Mawkish Popularity.

Failure Is, In A Sense, The Highway To Success.