Poetry Is The Record Of The Best

Those Who Love Not Their Fellow-beings Live Unfruitful Lives, And Prepare For Their Old Age A Miserable Grave.

Ah, Woe Is Me! Winter Is Come And Gone. But Grief Returns With The Revolving Year.

The Thoughts Which The Word "god" Suggests To The Human Mind Are Susceptible Of As Many Variations As Human Minds Themselves.

That Orbed Maiden, With White Fire Laden, Whom Mortals Call The Moon.

Some Say That Gleams Of A Remoter World Visit The Soul In Sleep — That Death Is Slumber, And That Its Shapes The Busy Thoughts Outnumber Of Those Who Wake And Live.