I Never Can Feel Certain Of Any

I Had A Dove And The Sweet Dove Died; And I Have Thought It Died Of Grieving: O, What Could It Grieve For? Its Feet Were Tied, With A Silken Thread Of My Own Hands' Weaving.

Health Is The Greatest Of Blessings - With Health And Hope We Should Be Content To Live.

The Excellence Of Every Art Is Its Intensity.

Fanatics Have Their Dreams, Wherewith They Weave A Paradise For A Sect.

Thou, Silent Form, Dost Tease Us Out Of Thought As Doth Eternity.