A Poet Not In Love Is Out

Fine Thoughts Are Wealth, For The Right Use Of Which Men Are And Ought To Be Accountable,-- If Not To Thee, To Those They Influence.

For As Nightingales Do Upon Glow-worms Feed, So Poets Live Upon The Living Light.

Surely The Stars Are Images Of Love.

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

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.