Works Of Genius Are The First Things

Season Of Mists And Mellow Fruitfulness, Close Bosom-friend Of The Maturing Sun.

You Have Absorb'd Me. I Have A Sensation At The Present Moment As Though I Was Dissolving.

The World Is Too Brutal For Me-i Am Glad There Is Such A Thing As The Grave-i Am Sure I Shall Never Have Any Rest Till I Get There.

O For Ten Years, That I May Overwhelm / Myself In Poesy; So I May Do The Deed / That My Own Soul Has To Itself Decreed.

Of Love, That Fairest Joys Give Most Unrest.