I Die But First I

Ye Stars! Which Are The Poetry Of Heaven!

It Is True From Early Habit, One Must Make Love Mechanically As One Swims; I Was Once Very Fond Of Both, But Now As I Never Swim Unless I Tumble Into The Water, I Don't Make Love Till Almost Obliged.

Mark! Where His Carnage And His Conquests Cease, He Makes A Solitude And Calls It-peace!

I Stood Among Them, But Not Of Them: In A Shroud Of Thoughts Which Were Not Their Thoughts.

There's Not A Joy The World Can Give Like That It Takes Away.