Of Love, That Fairest Joys Give Most

A Man's Life Of Any Worth Is A Continual Allegory.

Oh What Can Ail Thee, Knight-at-arms, Alone And Palely Loitering?

I Am Certain Of Nothing But The Holiness Of The Heart's Affections, And The Truth Of Imagination.

Heard Melodies Are Sweet, But Those Unheard Are Sweeter; Therefore, Ye Soft Pipes, Play On; Not To The Sensual Ear, But, More Endear'd, Pipe To The Spirit Ditties Of No Tone.

The Genius Of Poetry Must Work Out Its Own Salvation In A Man; It Cannot Be Matured By Law And Precept, But By Sensation And Watchfulness In Itself. That Which Is Creative Must Create Itself.