Beauty Of Whatever Kind, In Its Supreme

In Efforts To Soar Above Our Nature, We Invariably Fall Below It.

To Vilify A Great Man Is The Readiest Way In Which A Little Man Can Himself Attain Greatness.

Perched Upon A Bust Of Pallas, Just Above My Chamber Door,- Perched, And Sat, And Nothing More.

Once Upon A Midnight Dreary, While I Pondered Weak And Weary.

By The Grey Woods, By The Swamp, Where The Toad And Newt Encamp, By The Dismal Tarns And Pools, Where Dwell The Gouls. By Each Spot The Most Unholy, By Each Nook Most Melancholy, There The Traveller Meets, Aghast, Sheeted Memories Of The Past. Shrouded Forms That Start And Sigh, As They Pass The Wanderer By. White-robed Forms Of Friends Long Given; In Agony, To The Earth - And Heaven.