Life Is But Sighs; And, When They

I Strove With None, For None Was Worth My Strife. Nature I Loved And, Next To Nature, Art: I Warm'd Both Hands Before The Fire Of Life; It Sinks, And I Am Ready To Depart.

Falsehood Is For A Season.

There Is Nothing On Earth Divine Except Humanity.

I Have Since Written What No Tide Shall Ever Wash Away, What Men Unborn Shall Read O'er Ocean Wide And Find Ianthe's Name Agen.

Dignity, In Private Men And In Governments, Has Been Little Else Than A Stately And Stiff Perseverance In Oppression; And Spirit, As It Is Called, Little Else Than The Foam Of Hard-mouthed Insolence.