My Eyes Make Pictures When They Are

And To Be Wroth With One We Love…doth Work Like Madness In The Brain.

And They Three Passed Over The White Sands, Between The Rocks, Silent As The Shadows.

Creation Rather Than Painting, Or If Painting, Yet Such, And With Such Co-presence Of The Whole Picture Flash'd At Once Upon The Eye, As The Sun Paints In A Camera Obscura. (describing His Poetic Ideal, 1817)

All Sympathy Not Consistent With Acknowledged Virtue Is But Disguised Selfishness.

I Have Found Words [in The Bible] For My Inmost Thoughts, Songs For My Joy, Utterances For My Hidden Griefs, And Pleadings For My Shame And My Feebleness.