Pan Is Dead! Great Pan Is Dead!

Like To Write? Of Course, Of Course I Do. I Seem To Live While I Write - It Is Life, For Me.

He's Just, Your Cousin, Ay, Abhorrently, He'd Wash His Hands In Blood, To Keep Them Clean.

The Tyrant Should Take Heed To What He Doth, Since Every Victim-carrion Turns To Use, And Drives A Chariot, Like A God Made Wroth, Against Each Piled Injustice.

When We First Met And Loved, I Did Not Build Upon The Event With Marble. . . .

The Soul's Rialto Hath Its Merchandise, I Barter For Curl Upon That Mart.