Love Is Love's Reward.

What I Have Left Is From My Native Spring; I've Still A Heart That Swells, In Scorn Of Fate, And Lifts Me To My Banks.

I Have A Soul That Like An Ample Shield Can Take In All, And Verge Enough For More.

Genius Must Be Born, It Can't Be Taught.

Dreams Are But Interludes, Which Fancy Makes; When Monarch Reason Sleeps, This Mimic Wakes.

Beware The Fury Of A Patient Man.