With How Many Things Are

My Candle Was Nearly Burnt Out, When, By The Glimmer Of The Half-extinguished Light, I Saw The Dull Yellow Eye Of The Creature Open.

Ennui, The Demon, Waited At The Threshold Of His Noiseless Refuge, And Drove Away The Stirring Hopes And Enlivening Expectations, Which Form The Better Part Of Life.

Women Are Told From Their Infancy, And Taught By The Example Of Their Mothers, That A Little Knowledge Of Human Weakness, Justly Termed Cunning, Softness Of Temper, Outward Obedience And A Scrupulous Attention To A Puerile Kind Of Propriety, Will Obtain For Them The Protection Of Man.

Oh! Grief Is Fantastic; It Weaves A Web On Which To Trace The History Of Its Woe From Every Form And Change Around; It Incorporates Itself With All Living Nature; It Finds Sustenance In Every Object; As Light, It Fills All Things, And, Like Light, It Gives Its Own Colors To All.

But I Am A Blasted Tree; The Bolt Has Entered My Soul; And I Felt Then That I Should Survive To Exhibit What I Shall Soon Cease To Be - A Miserable Spectacle Of Wrecked Humanity, Pitiable To Others And Intolerable To Myself.