The Difference Between Genuine Poetry And The

Know, Man Hath All Which Nature Hath, But More, And In That More Lie All His Hopes Of Good.

Youth Dreams A Bliss On This Side Of Death. It Dreams A Rest, If Not More Deep, More Grateful Than This Marble Sleep; It Hears A Voice Within It Tell: Calm's Not Life's Crown, Though Calm Is Well. 'tis All Perhaps Which Man Acquires, But 'tis Not What Our Youth Desires.

The World Hath Failed To Impart The Joy Our Youth Forebodes; Failed To Fill Up The Void Which In Our Breasts We Bear.

The Brave, Impetuous Heart Yields Everywhere To The Subtle, Contriving Head.

The Nice Sense Of Measure Is Certainly Not One Of Nature's Gifts To Her English Children ... We Have All Of Us Yielded To Infatuation At Some Moment Of Our Lives.