Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud! I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!

Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, Lull'd by the coil of his crystalline streams Beside a pumice isle in Bai?'s …

Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: What if my leaves are falling like its own! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep, autumnal to…

Thou dirge Of the dying year, to which this closing night Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre, Vaulted with all thy congregated might.

It was long since I had longed for anything and the effect on me was horrible.

The total amount of suffering per year in the natural world is beyond all decent contemplation. During the minute that it takes me to compose this sentence, th…

On this hapless earth There 's small sincerity of mirth, And laughter oft is but an art To drown the outcry of the heart.