Mont Blanc Is The Monarch

Society Is Now One Polished Horde, Formed Of Two Mighty Tries, The Bores And Bored.

What Exile From Himself Can Flee? To Zones, Though More And More Remote, Still, Still Pursues, Where'er I Be, The Blight Of Life--the Demon Thought.

History, With All Her Volumes Vast, Hath But One Page.

There Is Music In All Things, If Men Had Ears.

I Depart, Whither I Know Not; But The Hour's Gone By When Albion's Lessening Shores Could Grieve Or Glad Mine Eye.