To what had I offered myself, But the partiality for impression. Oh, how did I obscure thy vision— Tis be my true confession. Now I ponder, and profess me is to say, Doth Mr. Poe only be made of tales and wordplay? Take note I did as silly was I to suppose That Mr. Poe not, too, be made of prose?

Sonnet For the Slain: Spiritual Suicide (English-Style Sonnet Poem) Absent ever to turn thy gaze away; Vexed be— the pith of birth erelong to thee. Death's grip he knows, linger in thy dismay; Prudence spoils himself, corrupt he be. Now stands the pyrrhonist with sights amiss, Of doom, of spite, of wayward enterprise; Oh be Nature, yes the timeless witness! Dawns veils of change— be man's greatest disguise. His heart decayed, prideful steps be thy walk. He wears thy crown lik