There Are Souls Which Fall From Heaven

There Are So Many Tender And Holy Emotions Flying About In Our Inward World, Which, Like Angels, Can Never Assume The Body Of An Outward Act; So Many Rich And Lovely Flowers Spring Up Which Bear No Seed, That It Is A Happiness Poetry Was Invented, Which Receives Into Its Limbs All These Incorporeal Spirits, And The Perfume Of All These Flowers.

Because The Heart Beats Under A Covering Of Hair, Of Fur, Feathers, Or Wings, It Is, For That Reason, To Be Of No Account?

With So Many Thousand Joys, Is It Not Black Ingratitude To Call The World A Place Of Sorrow And Torment?

What A Father Says To His Children Is Not Heard By The World, But It Will Be Heard By Posterity.

Romanticism Is Beauty Without Bounds-the Beautiful Infinite.