Those Who Have Not Found The Heaven

There Is A Solitude Of Space. A Solitude Of Sea. A Solitude Of Death, But These Societies Shall Be Compared With That Profounder Site-that Polar Privacy. A Soul Admitted To Itself--finite Infinity.

The Possible's Slow Fuse Is Lit By The Imagination.

Beauty Is Not The Cause Of Something, It Is What It Is.

Not 'revelation'-'tis That Waits/ But Our Unfurnished Eyes

All Things Do Go A-courting, In Earth, Or Sea, Or Air, God Hath Made Nothing Single But Thee In His World So Fair.