Grey Time-worn Marbles Hold The Pure Muses.

Wandering Between Two Worlds, One Dead, The Other Powerless To Be Born.

The Difference Between Genuine Poetry And The Poetry Of Dryden, Pope, And All Their School, Is Briefly This: Their Poetry Is Conceived And Composed In Their Wits, Genuine Poetry Is Conceived And Composed In The Soul.

The Brave, Impetuous Heart Yields Everywhere To The Subtle, Contriving Head.

Beautiful City! . . . Spreading Her Gardens To The Moonlight, And Whispering From Her Towers The Last Enchantments Of The Middle Age . . . Her Ineffable Charm. . . . Adorable Dreamer, Whose Heart Has Been So Romantic!

Hither And Thither Spins The Wind-borne Mirroring Soul, A Thousand Glimpses Wins, And Never Sees A Whole.