Heaven Walks Among Us Ordinarily Muffled In

The Finished Man Of The World Must Eat Of Every Apple Once.

The Poem Is A Confession Of Faith.

Science Does Not Know Its Debt To Imagination. Goethe Did Not Believe That A Great Naturalist Could Exist Without This Faculty.

The Intellect,-that Is Miraculous! Who Has It, Has The Talisman: His Skin And Bones, Though They Were Of The Color Of Night, Are Transparent, And The Everlasting Stars Shine Through, With Attractive Beams.

Ah, If The Rich Were Rich As The Poor Fancy Riches.