Some burn damp faggots, others may consume the entire combustible world in one small room as though dried straw, and if we turn about the bare chimney is gone black out because the work had finished in that flare. Solider, scholar, horseman, he, as 'twere all life's epitome. What made us dream that he could comb grey hair? The problem's of the earth ? Or ?...

I indulged in obscenities and scandals 
In order to burn more bright.
The poet's gift is to soothe and harass,
He bears the stamp of fate.
On earth I wanted to marry
A white rose to a pitch-black toad...