Thou Canst Not Speak Of What Thou

The Truest Poetry Is The Most Feigning.

Remuneration! O! That's The Latin Word For Three Farthings

There Is No Creature Loves Me; And If I Die, No Soul Will Pity Me.

To Sleep Perchance To Dream

But Miserable Most, To Love Unloved? This You Should Pity Rather Than Despise