Even For Those To Whom Life And

Words Have No Power To Impress The Mind Without The Exquisite Horror Of Their Reality.

I Have Great Faith In Fools,— Self-confidence My Friends Will Call It.

Convinced Myself, I Seek Not To Convince.

I Need Scarcely Observe That A Poem Deserves Its Title Only Inasmuch As It Excites, By Elevating The Soul. The Value Of The Poem Is In The Ratio Of This Elevating Excitement. But All Excitements Are, Through A Psychal Necessity, Transient.

I Have Not Only Labored Solely For The Benefit Of Others (receiving For Myself A Miserable Pittance), But Have Been Forced To Model My Thoughts At The Will Of Men Whose Imbecility Was Evident To All But Themselves