He Is Noble Who Both Feels And

Our Souls Must Become Expanded By The Contemplation Of Nature's Grandeur, Before We Can Fully Comprehend The Greatness Of Man.

God Will Pardon Me. It Is His Trade.

Perhaps Already I Am Dead, And These Perhaps Are Phantoms Vain; - These Motley Phantasies That Pass At Night Through My Disordered Brain. Perhaps With Ancient Heathen Shapes, Old Faded Gods, This Brain Is Full; Who, For Their Most Unholy Rites, Have Chosen A Dead Poet's Skull.

What Lies Lurk In Kisses.

In Blissful Dream, In Silent Night, There Came To Me, With Magic Might, With Magic Might, My Own Sweet Love, Into My Little Room Above.