The Believer Is Happy. The Doubter Is

It Would Be Mockery To Call Such Dreariness Heaven At All.

If A Poem Hasn't Ripped Apart Your Soul; You Haven't Experienced Poetry.

Invisible Things Are The Only Realities.

Sound-- That Stealeth Ever On The Ear Of Him Who, Musing, Gazeth On The Distance Dim, And Sees The Darkness Coming As A Cloud-- Is Not Its Form--its Voice--most Palpable And Loud?

The Unity Of Effect Or Impression Is A Point Of The Greatest Importance. It Is Clear, Moreover, That This Unity Cannot Be Thoroughly Preserved In Productions Whose Perusal Cannot Be Completed At One Sitting.