A Pretty Woman Is A Welcome Guest.

In The Desert A Fountain Is Springing, In The Wide Waste There Still Is A Tree, And A Bird In The Solitude Singing, Which Speaks To My Spirit Of Thee

Many Are Poets, But Without The Name;for What Is Poesy But To Createfrom Overfeeling Good Or Ill; And Aimat An External Life Beyond Our Fate,and Be The New Prometheus Of New Men,bestowing Fire From Heaven, And Then, Too Late,finding The Pleasure Given Repaid With Pain

Fill High The Cup With Samian Wine!

I Learned To Love Despair.

The Truly Brave Are Soft Of Heart And Eyes, And Feel For What Their Duty Bids Them Do.