Because Thou Must Not Dream, Thou Need

Spare Me The Whispering, Crowded Room, The Friends Who Come And Gape And Go, The Ceremonious Air Of Gloom - All, Which Makes Death A Hideous Show.

Philistinism! - We Have Not The Expression In English. Perhaps We Have Not The Word Because We Have So Much Of The Thing.

Bald As The Bare Mountain Tops Are Bald, With A Baldness Full Of Grandeur.

The Bent Of Our Time Is Towards Science, Towards Knowing Things As They Are.

Good Poetry Does Undoubtedly Tend To Form The Soul And Character; It Tends To Beget A Love Of Beauty And Of Truth In Alliance Together, It Suggests, However Indirectly, High And Noble Principles Of Action, And It Inspires The Emotion So Helpful In Making Principles Operative.