O For The Gentleness Of Old Romance,

A Thing Of Beauty Is A Joy Forever.

O Solitude! If I Must With Thee Dwell, Let It Not Be Among The Jumbled Heap Of Murky Buildings

So Let Me Be Thy Choir, And Make A Moan Upon The Midnight Hours.

Wherein Lies Happiness? In That Which Becks Our Ready Minds To Fellowship Divine, A Fellowship With Essence; Till We Shine, Full Alchemiz’d, And Free Of Space. Behold The Clear Religion Of Heaven!

How Does The Poet Speak To Men With Power, But By Being Still More A Man Than They