The Soul's Joy Lies In Doing.

The Odious And Disgusting Aristocracy Of Wealth Is Built Upon The Ruins Of All That Is Good In Chivalry Or Republicanism; And Luxury Is The Forerunner Of A Barbarism Scarcely Capable Of Cure.

I Have Drunken Deep Of Joy.

The Intense Atom Glows A Moment, Then Is Quenched In A Most Cold Repose.

O World! O Life! O Time! On Whose Last Steps I Climb

Poets Are The Hierophants Of An Unapprehended Inspiration; The Mirrors Of The Gigantic Shadows Which Futurity Casts Upon The Present.