The Genius Of Poetry Must Work Out

You Are Always New. The Last Of Your Kisses Was Even The Sweetest; The Last Smile The Brightest; The Last Movement The Gracefullest.

Here Are Sweet Peas, On Tiptoe For A Flight; With Wings Of Gentle Flush O'er Delicate White, And Taper Fingers Catching At All Things, To Bind Them All About With Tiny Rings.

Love Is My Religion - I Could Die For It.

I Am Certain Of Nothing But The Holiness Of The Heart’s Affections And The Truth Of The Imagination – What The Imagination Seizes As Beauty Must Be Truth – Whether It Existed Before Or Not – For I Have The Same Idea Of All Our Passions As Of Love They Are All In Their Sublime, Creative Of Essential Beauty . . .

Poetry Should Surprise By A Fine Excess And Not By Singularity, It Should Strike The Reader As A Wording Of His Own Highest Thoughts, And Appear Almost A Remembrance.