I Shall Soon Be Laid In The

Every Fresh Experience Points Out Some Form Of Error Which We Shall Afterwards Carefully Avoid.

I Equally Dislike The Favor Of The Public With The Love Of A Woman - They Are Both A Cloying Treacle To The Wings Of Independence.

The Poetry Of Earth Is Never Dead When All The Birds Are Faint With The Hot Sun, And Hide I Cooling Trees, A Voice Will Run From Hedge To Hedge About The New-mown Mead.

Where The Nightingale Doth Sing Not A Senseless, Tranced Thing, But Divine Melodious Truth.

The Grandeur Of The Dooms We Have Imagined For The Mighty Dead.