On The Ear Drops The Light Drip

Ah, Nut-brown Partridges! Ah, Brilliant Pheasants! And Ah, Ye Poachers!--'tis No Sport For Peasants.

None Are So Desolate But Something Dear, Dearer Than Self, Possesses Or Possess'd A Thought, And Claims The Homage Of A Tear.

Still From The Fount Of Joy's Delicious Springs Some Bitter O'er The Flowers Its Bubbling Venom Flings.

My Great Comfort Is, That The Temporary Celebrity I Have Wrung From The World Has Been In The Very Teeth Of All Opinions And Prejudices. I Have Flattered No Ruling Powers; I Have Never Concealed A Single Thought That Tempted Me.

Love Will Find A Way Through Paths Where Wolves Fear To Prey.