Men Are But Children Of A Larger

Happy The Man, And Happy He Alone, He, Who Can Call Today His Own.

Mere Poets Are Sottish As Mere Drunkards Are, Who Live In A Continual Mist, Without Seeing Or Judging Anything Clearly. A Man Should Be Learned In Several Sciences, And Should Have A Reasonable, Philosophical And In Some Measure A Mathematical Head, To Be A Complete And Excellent Poet.

I'm A Little Wounded, But I Am Not Slain; I Will Lay Me Down To Bleed A While. Then I'll Rise And Fight Again.

For Secrets Are Edged Tools, And Must Be Kept From Children And From Fools.

So Softly Death Succeeded Life In Her, She Did But Dream Of Heaven, And She Was There.