Are Not The Mountains, Waves, And Skies

Father Of Light! Great God Of Heaven! Hear'st Thou The Accents Of Despair? Can Guilt Like Man's Be E'er Forgiven? Can Vice Atone For Crimes By Prayer.

Retirement Accords With The Tone Of My Mind; I Will Not Descend To A World I Despise.

A Sleep Without Dreams, After A Rough Day Of Toil, Is What We Covet Most; And Yet How Clay Shrinks Back From More Quiescent Clay! The Very Suicide That Pays His Debt At Once Without Installments (an Old Way Of Paying Debts, Which Creditors Regret) Lets Out Impatiently His Rushing Breath, Less From Disgust Of Life Than Dread Of Death.

My Days Are In The Yellow Leaf; The Flowers And Fruits Of Love Are Gone; The Worm, The Canker, And The Grief, Are Mine Alone!

I Am No Platonist, I Am Nothing At All; But I Would Sooner Be A Paulician, Manichean, Spinozist, Gentile, Pyrrhonian, Zoroastrian, Than One Of The Seventy-two Villainous Sects Who Are Tearing Each Other To Pieces For The Love Of The Lord And Hatred Of Each Other.