Poetry Is The Morning Dream Of Great

Silence,--the Applause Of Real And Durable Impressions.

Yet, In These Autumn Days When Nature Expires, Here, In These Veiled Scenes, I Find More Attractions; It Is A Friend's Sad Goodbye; It Is The Last Smile From Lips That Death Is Going To Close Forever!

Poets And Heroes Are Of The Same Race, The Latter Do What The Former Conceive.

Chance Often Gives Us That Which We Should Not Have Presumed To Ask.

Poetry Is The Morning Dream Of Great Minds.