If Something Is Not Beautiful, It Is

A Long Poem Is A Test Of Invention Which I Take To Be The Polar Star Of Poetry, As Fancy Is The Sails, And Imagination The Rudder.

I Will Clamber Through The Clouds And Exist.

Adieu! Adieu! Thy Plaintive Anthem Fades Past The Near Meadows, Over The Still Stream, Up The Hill-side; And Now 'tis Buried Deep In The Next Valley-glades: Was It A Vision, Or A Waking Dream? Fled Is That Music:--do I Wake Or Sleep?

Heard Melodies Are Sweet, But Those Unheard Are Sweeter.

My Creed Is Love And You Are Its Only Tenet.