A Poet Not In Love Is Out

Obey Thy Genius, For A Minister It Is Unto The Throne Of Fate. Draw To Thy Soul, And Centralize The Rays Which Are Around Of The Divinity.

Let Each Man Think Himself An Act Of God, His Mind A Thought, His Life A Breath Of God; And Let Each Try, By Great Thoughts And Good Deeds, To Show The Most Of Heaven He Hath In Him.

Music Tells No Truths.

The Poet's Pen Is The True Divining Rod Which Trembles Towards The Inner Founts Of Feeling; Bringing To Light And Use, Else Hid From All, The Many Sweet Clear Sources Which We Have Of Good And Beauty In Our Own Deep Bosoms; And Marks The Variations Of All Mind As Does The Needle.

He Hath No Power That Hath Not Power To Use.