Like A Mermaid In Sea-weed, She Dreams

Beauty Is Truth, Truth Beauty,-that Is All Ye Know On Earth, And All Ye Need To Know.

A Poet Is The Most Unpoetical Of Anything In Existence; Because He Has No Identity He Is Continually Informing And Filling Some Other Body.

When It Is Moving On Luxurious Wings, The Soul Is Lost In Pleasant Smotherings.

Young Playmates Of The Rose And Daffodil, Be Careful Ere Ye Enter In, To Fill Your Baskets High With Fennel Green, And Balm, And Golden Pines Savory Latter-mint, And Columbines.

Here Lies One Whose Name Was Writ In Water.