In For Ever Knowing, We Are For

With Me Poetry Has Been Not A Purpose, But A Passion; And The Passions Should Be Held In Reverence: They Must Not They Cannot At Will Be Excited, With An Eye To The Paltry Compensations, Or The More Paltry Commendations, Of Mankind.

True, Nervous, Very, Very Dreadfully Nervous I Had Been And Am, But Why Will Say That I Am Mad?! The Disease Had Haunted My Senses, Not Destroyed, Not Dulled Them. Of All The Sense Of Hearing Acute.

To Elevate The Soul, Poetry Is Necessary.

Believe Only Half Of What You See And Nothing That You Hear.

A Dirge For Her The Doubly Dead In That She Died So Young.