I Find I Cannot Exist Without Poetry

Through The Sad Heart Of Ruth, When Sick For Home She Stood In Tears Amid The Alien Corn; The Same That Ofttimes Hath Charm'd Magic Casements, Opening On The Foam Of Perilous Seas, In Faery Lands Forlorn.

Already With Thee! Tender Is The Night. . . But Here There Is No Light. . .

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

The Excellence Of Every Art Is Its Intensity, Capable Of Making All Disagreeables Evaporate, From Their Being In Close Relationship With Beauty And Truth.

Failure Is, In A Sense, The Highway To Success.