Poetry Fettered Fetters The Human Race.

O White-robed Angel, Guide My Timorous Hand To Write As On A Lofty Rock With Iron Pen The Words Of Truth, That All Who Pass May Read.

Work Up Imagination To The State Of Vision.

The Roaring Of Lions, The Howling Of Wolves, The Raging Of The Stormy Sea, And The Destructive Sword, Are Portions Of Eternity, Too Great For The Eye Of Man.

When Nations Grow Old The Arts Grow Cold And Commerce Settles On Every Tree

Art Degraded, Imagination Denied.