Neither Poetry, Nor Ambition, Nor Love Have

Life Is But A Day; A Fragile Dewdrop On Its Perilous Way From A Tree's Summit.

I Have Good Reason To Be Content, For Thank God I Can Read And Perhaps Understand Shakespeare To His Depths.

Beauty Is Truth, Truth Beauty

All Clean And Comfortable I Sit Down To Write.

Bright Star, Would I Were Steadfast As Thou Art-- Not In Lone Splendour Hung Aloft The Night And Watching, With Eternal Lids Apart, Like Nature's Patient, Sleepless Eremite.