The Counterfeit And Counterpart Of Nature Is

The Wreck Of The Hesperus But The Father Answered Never A Word, A Frozen Corpse Was He.

The Tragic Element In Poetry Is Like Saturn In Alchemy, — The Malevolent, The Destroyer Of Nature ; But Without It No True Aurum Potabile, Or Elixir Of Life, Can Be Made.

That Tree Is Very Old, But I Never Saw Prettier Blossoms On It Than It Now Bears. That Tree Grows New Wood Each Year. Like That Apple Tree, I Try To Grow A New Little Wood Each Year.

From Dust Thou Art To Dust Returneth, Was Not Spoken Of The Soul.

To Be Left Alone, And Face To Face With My Own Crime, Had Been Just Retribution.