So Let Me Be Thy Choir, And

Fast Fading Violets Cover'd Up In Leaves; And Mid-may's Eldest Child, The Coming Musk-rose, Full Of Dewy Wine, The Murmurous Haunt Of Flies On Summer Eves.

I Will Clamber Through The Clouds And Exist.

Dancing Music, Music Sad, Both Together, Sane And Mad.

The Genius Of Shakespeare Was An Innate University.

All Writing Is A Form Of Prayer.