“I heed not that my earthly lot Hath - little of Earth in it -That years of love have been forgot In the hatred of a minute: -I mourn not that the desolate Are happier, sweet, than I,But that you sorrow for my fate Who am a passer by.”

“Years of love have been forgot, In the hatred of a minute.”

“Deep in earth my love is lyingAnd I must weep alone.”

“TRUE! – nervous – very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses – not destroyed – not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily – how calmly I can tell you the whole story.”

“I have not always been as now:The fever'd diadem on my brow I claim'd and won unsurprisingly-Hath not the same fierce heirdom given Rome to the Caeser-this is me? The heritage of a kindly mind,And a proud spirit which hath striven Triumphantly with human kind.”

“From childhood's hour I have not been. As others were, I have not seen. As others saw, I could not awaken. My heart to joy at the same tone. And all I loved, I loved alone.”

“But evil things, in robes of sorrow, Assailed the monarch's high estate;(Ah, let us mourn, for never morrowShall dawn upon him desolate!)And round about his home the gloryThat blushed and bloomed,Is but a dim-remembered storyOf the old time entombed.”