Oh What Can Ail Thee, Knight-at-arms, Alone

With A Great Poet The Sense Of Beauty Overcomes Every Other Consideration, Or Rather Obliterates All Consideration.

What Is More Gentle Than A Wind Is Summer?

His Old Right Hand Lay Nerveless, Listless, Dead, Unsceptred; And His Realmless Eyes Were Closed.

When I Have Fears That I May Ceace To Be, Before My Pen Has Gleaned My Teaming Brain".

I Have Loved The Principle Of Beauty In All Things.