Youth Means Love, Vows Can't Change Nature,

Tis Looking Downward Makes One Dizzy.

Sappho Survives, Because We Sing Her Songs; And Eschylus, Because We Read His Plays!

All Poetry Is Difficult To Read - The Sense Of It Anyhow.

Days Decrease, / And Autumn Grows, Autumn In Everything.

Truth Is Within Ourselves; It Takes No Rise From Outward Things, Whate'er You May Believe. There Is An Inmost Centre In Us All, Where Truth Abides In Fulness; And Around, Wall Upon Wall, The Gross Flesh Hems It In, This Perfect, Clear Perception-which Is Truth. A Baffling And Perverting Carnal Mesh Binds It, And Makes All Error: And To Know Rather Consists In Opening Out A Way Whence The Imprisoned Splendour May Escape, Than In Effecting Entry For A Light Supposed To Be Without.