Surely The Stars Are Images Of Love.

Leave The Poor Some Time For Self-improvement. Let Them Not Be Forced To Grind The Bones Out Of Their Arms For Bread, But Have Some Space To Think And Feel Like Moral And Immortal Creatures.

Imagination Is The Air Of Mind.

Surely The Stars Are Images Of Love.

Dewdrops, Nature's Tears, Which She Sheds In Her Own Breast For The Fair Which Die. The Sun Insists On Gladness; But At Night, When He Is Gone, Poor Nature Loves To Weep.

It Is Fine To Stand Upon Some Lofty Mountain Thought, And Feel The Spirit Stretch Into A View.