But The Child's Sob Curses Deeper In

O Pusillanimous Heart, Be Comforted And, Like A Cheerful Traveller, Take The Road Singing Beside The Hedge.

The Critics Could Never Mortify Me Out Of Heart - Because I Love Poetry For Its Own Sake, - And, Tho' With No Stoicism And Some Ambition, Care More For My Poems Than For My Poetic Reputation.

God Himself Is The Best Poet, And The Real Is His Song.

And Yet, Because I Love Thee, I Obtain From That Same Love This Vindicating Grace, To Live On Still In Love, And Yet In Vain

Souls Are Gregarious In A Sense, But No Soul Touches Another, As A General Rule.