The Form Of Truth Will Bear Exposure,

Poetry, Even That Of The Loftiest, And Seemingly, That Of The Wildest Odes, [has] A Logic Of Its Own As Severe As That Of Science; And More Difficult, Because More Subtle, More Complex, And Dependent On More And More Fugitive Causes. In The Truly Great Poets... There Is A Reason Assignable, Not Only For Every Word, But For The Position Of Every Word.

There Are Errors Which No Wise Man Will Treat With Rudeness While There Is A Probability That They May Be The Refraction Of Some Great Truth Still Below The Horizon.

All Nature Seems At Work. Slugs Leave Their Lair The Bees Are Stirring, Birds Are On The Wing, And Winter Slumbering In The Open Air, Wears On His Smiling Face A Dream Of Spring.

The Artist Must Imitate That Which Is Within The Thing, That Which Is Active Through Form And Figure, And Discourses To Us By Symbols.

And In Today Already Walks Tomorrow.