The Swan, Like The Soul Of The

Great Genius Takes Shape By Contact With Another Great Genius, But Less By Assimilation Than By Friction.

With The Rose The Butterfly's Deep In Love, A Thousand Times Hovering Round; But Round Himself, All Tender Like Gold, The Sun's Sweet Ray Is Hovering Found.

Newness Hath An Evanescent Beauty.

The Negro King Desired To Be Portrayed As White. But Do Not Laugh At The Poor African; For Every Man Is But Another Negro King, And Would Like To Appear In A Color Different From That With Which Fate Has Bedaubed Him.

Music Is A Strange Thing. I Would Almost Say It Is A Miracle.