Is Duty A Mere Sport, Or An

A Mother Is A Mother Still, The Holiest Thing Alive.

That Agony Returns; And Till My Ghastly Tale Is Told, This Heart Within Me Burns.

A Poet Ought Not To Pick Nature's Pocket. Let Him Borrow, And So Borrow As To Repay By The Very Act Of Borrowing. Examine Nature Accurately, But Write From Recollection, And Trust More To The Imagination Than The Memory.

The First Great Requisite Is Absolute Sincerity. Falsehood And Disguise Are Miseries And Misery-makers.

Trochee Trips From Long To Short; From Long To Long In Solemn Sort Slow Spondee Stalks.