The death then of a beautiful woman is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world, and equally is it beyond doubt that the lips best suited for such topic are those of a bereaved lover.

As an individual, I myself feel impelled to fancy ... a limitless succession of Universes.... Each exists, apart and independently, in the bosom of its proper and particular God.

And all I loved, I loved alone.

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!” Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.

It would be mockery to call such dreariness heaven at all.

As the strong man exults in his physical ability, delighting in such exercises as call his muscles into action, so glories the analyst in that moral activity which disentangles.

The rudiment of verse may, possibly, be found in the spondee.