The Death-bed Of A Day, How Beautiful!

Poetry Is Itself A Thing Of God; He Made His Prophets Poets; And The More We Feel Of Poesie Do We Become Like God In Love And Power,-under-makers.

It Matters Not How Long We Live But How.

When Pride Thaws, Look For Floods.

I Cannot Love As I Have Loved, And Yet I Know Not Why; It Is The One Great Woe Of Life To Feel All Feeling Die.

Fine Thoughts Are Wealth, For The Right Use Of Which Men Are And Ought To Be Accountable,-- If Not To Thee, To Those They Influence.