Temptation: The Fiend At My Elbow.

I Have Almost Forgotten The Taste Of Fears: The Time Has Been, My Senses Would Have Cool’d To Hear A Night-shriek; And My Fell Of Hair Would At A Dismal Treatise Rouse And Stir As Life Were In’t: I Have Supt Full With Horrors; Direness, Familiar To My Slaughterous Thoughts, Cannot Once Start Me.

What's Hecuba To Him, Or He To Hecuba, That He Should Weep For Her?

I Am Declined Into The Vale Of Years.

And This, Our Life, Exempt From Public Haunt, Finds Tongues In Trees, Books In The Running Brooks, Sermons In Stones, And Good In Everything.

O Time, Thou Must Untangle This, Not I. It Is Too Hard A Knot For Me T'untie.