To The Very Last, He [napoleon] Had

The Genius Of Poetry Must Work Out Its Own Salvation In A Man; It Cannot Be Matured By Law And Precept, But By Sensation And Watchfulness In Itself. That Which Is Creative Must Create Itself - In Endymion, I Leaped Headlong Into The Sea, And Thereby Have Become Better Acquainted With The Soundings, The Quicksands, And The Rocks, Than If I Had Stayed Upon The Green Shore, And Piped A Silly Pipe, And Took Tea And Comfortable Sdvice.

Like A Mermaid In Sea-weed, She Dreams Awake, Trembling In Her Soft And Chilly Nest.

Works Of Genius Are The First Things In The World.

Where Are The Songs Of Spring? Aye, Where Are They? Think Not Of Them; Thou Has Thy Music Too.

My Imagination Is A Monastery And I Am Its Monk.