Poetry Is Itself A Thing Of God;

Burn To Be Great, Pay Not Thy Praise To Lofty Things Alone. The Plains Are Everlasting As The Hills, The Bard Cannot Have Two Pursuits; Aught Else Comes On The Mind With The Like Shock As Though Two Worlds Had Gone To War, And Met In Air.

The Truth Of Truths Is Love.

The Sun, Centre And Sire Of Light, The Keystone Of The World-built Arch Of Heaven.

There Is No Disappointment We Endure One-half So Great As What We Are To Ourselves.

Art Is A Man's Nature; Nature Is God's Art.