Man Who Man Would Be, Must Rule

Poets Are The Hierophants Of An Unapprehended Inspiration; The Mirrors Of The Gigantic Shadows Which Futurity Casts Upon The Present.

Oh That Simplicity And Innocence Its Own Unvalued Work So Seldom Knows!

For Love And Beauty And Delight, There Is No Death Nor Change.

I Never Was Attached To That Great Sect, Whose Doctrine Is That Each One Should Select Out Of The Crowd A Mistress Or A Friend, And All The Rest, Though Fair And Wise, Commend, To Cold Oblivion.

Death Will Come When Thou Art Dead, Soon, Too Soon.