A Man's Life Of Any Worth Is

Bright Star, Would I Were Steadfast As Thou Art-- Not In Lone Splendour Hung Aloft The Night And Watching, With Eternal Lids Apart, Like Nature's Patient, Sleepless Eremite.

The Grandeur Of The Dooms We Have Imagined For The Mighty Dead.

All Clean And Comfortable I Sit Down To Write.

Let Us Open Our Leaves Like A Flower, And Be Passive And Receptive.

Praise Or Blame Has But A Momentary Effect On The Man Whose Love Of Beauty In The Abstract Makes Him A Severe Critic On His Own Works.