How Does The Poet Speak To Men

How Beautiful, If Sorrow Had Not Made Sorrow More Beautiful Than Beauty's Self.

Real Are The Dreams Of Gods, And Smoothly Pass Their Pleasures In A Long Immortal Dream.

So Rainbow-sided, Touch'd With Miseries, She Seem'd, At Once, Some Penanced Lady Elf, Some Demon's Mistress, Or The Demon's Self.

To The Very Last, He [napoleon] Had A Kind Of Idea; That, Namely, Of La Carrière Ouverte Aux Talents, - The Tools To Him That Can Handle Them.

So Let Me Be Thy Choir, And Make A Moan Upon The Midnight Hours.