Ye Stars! Which Are The Poetry Of

To Have Joy, One Must Share It.

Think Not I Am What I Appear.

I Really Cannot Know Whether I Am Or Am Not The Genius You Are Pleased To Call Me, But I Am Very Willing To Put Up With The Mistake, If It Be One.

Lovers May Be And Indeed Generally Are Enemies, But They Never Can Be Friends, Because There Must Always Be A Spice Of Jealousy And A Something Of Self In All Their Speculations.

Dim With The Mist Of Years, Gray Flits The Shade Of Power.