On Dreary Night Let Lusty Sunshine Fall.

No Greater Grief Than To Remember Days Of Gladness When Sorrow Is At Hand.

Even Now, Nature Is The Only Flame, On Which The Poetic Spirit Feeds; From It Alone It Draws All Its Power, To It Alone It Speaks Even In The Artificial, In The Man Engaged In Culture.

Historians Are Prophets With Their Face Turned Backward.

Wise To Resolve, Patient To Perform.

Toil Of Science Swells The Wealth Of Art.