There Is No Flesh In Man's Obdurate

As If The World And They Were Hand And Glove.

There Is A Pleasure In Poetic Pains / Which Only Poets Know.

The Bud May Have A Bitter Taste, But Sweet Will Be The Flower.

There Is In Souls A Sympathy With Sounds.

[my Kitten's] Gambols Are Not To Be Described, And Would Be Incredible, If They Could.