Ah Love, Let Us Be True To

Creep Into Thy Narrow Bed, Creep, And Let No More Be Said!

What Is It To Grow Old? Is It To Lose The Glory Of The Form, The Lustre Of The Eye? Is It For Beauty To Forego Her Wreath? Yes; But Not This Alone.

Man Errs Not That He Deems His Welfare His True Aim, He Errs Because He Dreams The World Does But Exist That Welfare To Bestow.

Poetry Interprets In Two Ways: It Interprets By Expressing, With Magical Felicity, The Physiognomy And Movements Of The Outward World; And It Interprets By Expressing, With Inspired Conviction, The Ideas And Laws Of The Inward World Of Man's Moral And Spiritual Nature. In Other Words, Poetry Is Interpretative Both By Having Natural Magic In It, And By Having Moral Profundity.

Religion Is Ethics Heightened, Enkindled, Lit Up By Feeling