Joy Rises In Me, Like A Summer's

Come, Come Thou Bleak December Wind, And Blow The Dry Leaves From The Tree! Flash, Like A Love-thought, Thro'me, Death And Take A Life That Wearies Me.

The Poet Is The Man Made To Solve The Riddle Of The Universe Who Brings The Whole Soul Of Man Into Activity.

Not The Poem Which We Have Read , But That To Which We Return , With The Greatest Pleasure, Possesses The Genuine Power, And Claims The Name Of Essential Poetry .

My Eyes Make Pictures When They Are Shut.

Every Human Feeling Is Greater And Larger Than Its Exciting Cause-a Proof, I Think, That Man Is Designed For A Higher State Of Existence.