Not Heav'n Itself Upon The Past Has

Virtue Without Success Is A Fair Picture Shown By An Ill Light; But Lucky Men Are Favorites Of Heaven; All Own The Chief, When Fortune Owns The Cause.

All Empire Is No More Than Power In Trust.

From Harmony, From Heav'nly Harmony. This Universal Frame Began.

An Horrible Stillness First Invades Our Ear, And In That Silence We The Tempest Fear.

Imagination In A Poet Is A Faculty So Wild And Lawless That, Like A High Ranging Spaniel, It Must Have Clogs Tied To It, Lest It Outrun The Judgment. The Great Easiness Of Blank Verse Renders The Poet Too Luxuriant. He Is Tempted To Say Many Things Which Might Better Be Omitted, Or, At Least Shut Up In Fewer Words.