They Swayed About Upon A Rocking Horse,

But The Rose Leaves Herself Upon The Brier, For Winds To Kiss And Grateful Bees To Feed.

How Does The Poet Speak To Men With Power, But By Being Still More A Man Than They

O Solitude! If I Must With Thee Dwell, Let It Not Be Among The Jumbled Heap Of Murky Buildings

A Poet Is The Most Unpoetical Of Anything In Existence; Because He Has No Identity He Is Continually Informing And Filling Some Other Body.

The Poetry Of Earth Is Never Dead When All The Birds Are Faint With The Hot Sun, And Hide I Cooling Trees, A Voice Will Run From Hedge To Hedge About The New-mown Mead.