Tasteful Illumination Of The Night, Bright Scattered,

I Long For Scenes Where Man Has Never Trod; A Place Where Woman Never Smil'd Or Wept; There To Abide With My Creator, God, And Sleep As I In Childhood Sweetly Slept: Untroubling And Untroubled Where I Lie; The Grass Below--above The Vaulted Sky.

Throw Not My Words Away, As Many Do;they're Gold In Value, Though They're Cheap To You.

Into The Nothingness Of Scorn And Noise, Into The Living Sea Of Waking Dreams, Where There Is Neither Sense Of Life Or Joys, But The Vast Shipwreck Of My Life's Esteems; And E'en The Dearest--that I Love The Best-- Are Strange--nay, Rather Stranger Than The Rest.

I Live Here Among The Ignorant Like A Lost Man In Fact Like One Whom The Rest Seems Careless Of Having Anything To Do With — They Hardly Dare Talk In My Company For Fear I Shoud Mention Them In My Writings & I Find More Pleasure In Wandering The Fields Then In Mixing Among My Silent Neighbours Who Are Insensible Of Everything But Toiling & Talking Of It & That To No Purpose.

I Was Byron And Shakespeare Formerly.