Basunism

Upon a virgin parchment, unsullied by stain or blemish of mortal making, I ne'er did seize the spindle of fate to weave myself into that festoon of hours which, for but a fleeting instant, blossom'd like roses beneath the chariot wheels of time. Each moment I travers'd as a wanderer of reveries, consorting more with phantoms and daydreams than with the waking world. Never did I partake of those common felicities which fortune so liberally bestoweth upon others. To discourse whilst hand in hand with one beloved, or to tread a selfsame path in sweet companionship, was a privilege not appointed unto my lot. Yet I found contentment in another station. I became a silent observer of a beauty beyond my claiming, of a touch my soul yearn'd to apprehend, and of an affection which my breast long'd to lavish, though it remain'd forever unbestow'd. And wherefore I held my tongue amidst the tribunal of men's judgments, I cannot rightly tell. When scorn was cast upon ...