Philosophy Will Clip An Angel's Wings, Conquer

A Thing Of Beauty Is A Joy For Ever: Its Loveliness Increases; It Will Never Pass Into Nothingness; But Still Will Keep A Bower Quiet For Us, And A Sleep Full Of Sweet Dreams, And Health, And Quiet Breathing.

He Ne'er Is Crowned With Immortality Who Fears To Follow Where Airy Voices Lead.

Thou Art A Dreaming Thing, A Fever Of Thyself.

You Might Curb Your Magnanimity, And Be More Of An Artist, And Load Every Rift Of Your Subject With Ore.

Now A Soft Kiss - Aye, By That Kiss, I Vow An Endless Bliss.