An Undevout Poet Is An Impossibility.

A Stately Pleasure-dome Decree.

Tranquillity! Thou Better Name Than All The Family Of Fame.

And What If All Of Animated Nature Be But Organic Harps Diversely Framed, That Tremble Into Thought, As O'er Them Sweeps, Plastic And Vast, One Intellectual Breeze, At Once The Soul Of Each, And God Of All?

No Man Was Ever Yet A Great Poet, Without Being At The Same Time A Profound Philosopher.

The Primary Imagination I Hold To Be The Living Power And Prime Agent Of All Human Perception, And As A Repetition In The Finite Mind Of The Eternal Act Of Creation In The Infinite I Am.