I Dwell In Possibility A Fairer House

A Color Stands Abroad On Solitary Hills That Silence Cannot Overtake, But Human Nature Feels.

Besides The Autumn Poets Sing, A Few Prosaic Days, A Little This Side Of The Snow, And That Side Of The Haze..., Grant Me, Oh Lord, A Sunny Mind- Thy Windy Will To Bear!

Much Madness Is Divinest Sense, To A Discerning Eye.

I Hope Your Rambles Have Been Sweet, And Your Reveries Spacious

A Little Madness In The Spring Is Wholesome Even For The King.