Soft Closer Of Our Eyes! Low Murmur

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

A Thing Of Beauty Is A Joy Forever.

The Roaring Of The Wind Is My Wife And The Stars Through The Window Pane Are My Children. The Mighty Abstract Idea I Have Of Beauty In All Things Stifles The More Divided And Minute Domestic Happiness.

He Who Saddens At Thought Of Idleness Cannot Be Idle, / And He's Awake Who Thinks Himself Asleep.

Thou Wast Not Born For Death, Immortal Bird! No Hungry Generations Tread Thee Down; The Voice I Hear This Passing Night Was Heard In Ancient Days By Emperor And Clown.