Poetry, Like Love, Is Something We Never

This Could But Have Happened Once,- And We Missed It, Lost It Forever.

Of What I Call God, And Fools Call Nature.

'tis Only When They Spring To Heaven That Angels Reveal Themselves To You.

Are There Not, Dear Michael, Two Points In The Adventure Of The Diver,- One, When A Beggar He Prepares To Plunge; One, When A Prince He Rises With His Pearl? Festus, I Plunge.

I Trust In Nature For The Stable Laws Of Beauty And Utility. Spring Shall Plant And Autumn Garner To The End Of Time.