The Thought, The Deadly Thought Of Solitude.

What Is There In Thee, Moon! That Thou Should'st Move My Heart So Potently?

A Thing Of Beauty Is A Joy Forever: Its Loveliness Increases; It Will Never Pass Into Nothingness.

When I Behold, Upon The Night's Starr'd Face, Huge Cloudy Symbols Of A High Romance, And Think That I May Never Live To Trace Their Shadows, With The Magic Hand Of Chance.

Fanatics Have Their Dreams, Wherewith They Weave A Paradise For A Sect.

Severn - I - Lift Me Up - I Am Dying - I Shall Die Easy; Don't Be Frightened - Be Firm, And Thank God It Has Come.