The Heart Is Its Own Fate.

Grief Hallows Hearts, Even While It Ages Heads.

The Course Of Nature Seems A Course Of Death, And Nothingness The Whole Substantial Thing.

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.

Ask Not Of Me, Love, What Is Love? Ask What Is Good Of God Above; Ask Of The Great Sun What Is Light; Ask What Is Darkness Of The Night; Ask Sin Of What May Be Forgiven; Ask What Is Happiness Of Heaven; Ask What Is Folly Of The Crowd; Ask What Is Fashion Of The Shroud; Ask What Is Sweetness Of Thy Kiss; Ask Of Thyself What Beauty Is.

Youth Might Be Wise; We Suffer Less From Pains Than Pleasures.