Fade Far Away, Dissolve, And Quite Forget.

If Poetry Does Not Come As Naturally As Leaves To A Tree, Then It Better Not Come At All.

Pleasure Is Oft A Visitant; But Pain Clings Cruelly To Us.

I Will Imagine You Venus Tonight And Pray, Pray, Pray To Your Star Like A Heathen.

You Might Curb Your Magnanimity, And Be More Of An Artist, And Load Every Rift Of Your Subject With Ore.

When I Have Fears That I May Ceace To Be, Before My Pen Has Gleaned My Teaming Brain".