Accursed Be The City Where The Laws

The Mind Can Make Substance, And People Planets Of Its Own With Beings Brighter Than Have Been, And Give A Breath To Forms Which Can Outlive All Flesh.

The Poor Dog, In Life The Firmest Friend. The First To Welcome, Foremost To Defend.

Fools Are My Theme, Let Satire Be My Song.

A Thirst For Gold, The Beggar's Vice, Which Can But Overwhelm The Meanest Hearts.

Above Or Love, Hope, Hate Or Fear, It Lives All Passionless And Pure: An Age Shall Fleet Like Earthly Year; Its Years In Moments Shall Endure. Away, Away, Without A Wing, O'er All, Through All, Its Thought Shall Fly; A Nameless And Eternal Thing, Forgetting What It Was To Die.