Love Is Not In Our Choice But

Nor Is The People's Judgment Always True: The Most May Err As Grossly As The Few.

A Narrow Mind Begets Obstinacy; We Do Not Easily Believe What We Cannot See.

To Take Up Half On Trust, And Half To Try, Name It Not Faith But Bungling Bigotry.

That Gloomy Outside, Like A Rusty Chest, Contains The Shoring Treasure Of A Soul Resolved And Brave.

Railing In Other Men May Be A Crime, But Ought To Pass For Mere Instinct In Him: Instinct He Follows And No Further Knows, For To Write Verse With Him Is To Transprose.