I Have So Much Of You In

... Who Alive Can Say 'thou Art No Poet - Mayst Not Tell Thy Dreams'? Since Every Man Whose Soul Is Not A Clod Hath Visions, And Would Speak, If He Had Loved, And Been Well Nurtured In His Mother Tongue.

His Religion At Best Is An Anxious Wish,-like That Of Rabelais, A Great Perhaps.

I Have Loved The Principle Of Beauty In All Things.

I Have Nothing To Speak Of But My Self-and What Can I Say But What I Feel.

What Shocks The Virtuous Philosopher, Delights The Chameleon Poet.