Safe In The Hallowed Quiets Of The

The Intellect Has Only One Failing, Which, To Be Sure, Is A Very Considerable One. It Has No Conscience.

God'll Send The Bill To You.

But Civlyzation Doos Git Forrid Sometimes Upon A Powder-cart.

Keats Longed For Fame, But Longed Above All To Deserve It.

I Who Still Pray At Morning And At Eve Thrice In My Life Perhaps Have Truly Prayed, Thrice Stirred Below Conscious Self Have Felt That Perfect Disenthrallment Which Is God.