Honour Sits Smiling At The Sale Of

Deep Truth Is Imageless.

Gold Is A Living God And Rules In Scorn, All Earthly Things But Virtue.

Thou Paradise Of Exiles, Italy!

I Fall Upon The Thorns Of Life.

The Mind In Creation Is As A Fading Coal, Which Some Invisible Influence, Like An Inconstant Wind, Awakens To Transitory Brightness; This Power Arises From Within...could This Influence Be Durable In Its Original Purity And Force, It Is Impossible To Predict The Greatness Of The Result; But When Composition Begins, Inspiration Is Already On The Decline; And The Most Glorious Poetry That Has Been Communicated To The World Is Probably A Feeble Shadow Of The Original Conceptions Of The Poet.