What Is More Gentle Than A Wind

I Would Sooner Fail Than Not Be Among The Greatest.

For Poesy Alone Can Tell Her Dreams, With The Fine Spell Of Words Alone Can Save Imagination From The Sable Charm And Dumb Enchantment. Who Alive Can Say, ‘thou Art No Poet May’st Not Tell Thy Dreams?’ Since Every Man Whose Soul Is Not A Clod Hath Visions, And Would Speak, If He Had Loved And Been Well Nurtured In His Mother Tongue. Whether The Dream Now Purpos’d To Rehearse Be Poet’s Or Fanatic’s Will Be Known When This Warm Scribe My Hand Is In The Grave.

He Ne'er Is Crowned With Immortality Who Fears To Follow Where Airy Voices Lead.

Tall Oaks Branch Charmed By The Earnest Stars Dream And So Dream All Night Without A Stir.

A Man's Life Of Any Worth Is A Continual Allegory.