Fate Hath No Voice But The Heart's

You Saw His Weakness, And He Will Never Forgive You.

Did You Think The Lion Was Sleeping Because He Didn't Roar?

Even Now, Nature Is The Only Flame, On Which The Poetic Spirit Feeds; From It Alone It Draws All Its Power, To It Alone It Speaks Even In The Artificial, In The Man Engaged In Culture.

O'er Ocean, With A Thousand Masts, Sails Forth The Stripling Bold- One Boat, Hard Rescued From The Deep, Draws Into Port The Old!

Art Is The Right Hand Of Nature.