Every Man Has A Rainy Corner Of

God Is An Unutterable Sigh, Planted In The Depths Of The Soul.

There Are So Many Tender And Holy Emotions Flying About In Our Inward World, Which, Like Angels, Can Never Assume The Body Of An Outward Act; So Many Rich And Lovely Flowers Spring Up Which Bear No Seed, That It Is A Happiness Poetry Was Invented, Which Receives Into Its Limbs All These Incorporeal Spirits, And The Perfume Of All These Flowers.

The Look Of A King Is Itself A Deed.

A Sky Full Of Silent Suns.

Ah! The Seasons Of Love Roll Not Backward But Onward, Downward Forever.