But Soon, I Shall Die,

I Shall Commit My Thoughts To Paper, It Is True; But That Is A Poor Medium For The Communication Of Feeling. I Desire The Company Of A Man Who Could Sympathize With Me, Whose Eyes Would Reply To Mine.

Every Where I See Bliss, From Which I Alone Am Irrevocably Excluded.

Poetry, And The Principle Of Self, Of Which Money Is The Visible Incarnation, Are The God And The Mammon Of The World.

Supremely Frightful Would Be The Effect Of Any Human Endeavor To Mock The Stupendous Mechanism Of The Creator Of The World.

Even The Eternal Skies Weep, I Thought; Is There Any Shame Then, That Mortal Man Should Spend Himself In Tears?