Men are egotists, and not all tolerant of one man's selfhood; they do not always deem the amities elective.

Alas, by what rude fate Our lives, like ships at sea, an instant meet, Then part forever on their courses fleet.

Faith and joy are the ascensive forces of song.

Look on this cast, and know the hand That bore a nation in its hold; From this mute witness understand What Lincoln was - how large of mould.

Natural emotion is the soul of poetry, as melody is of music; the same faults are engendered by over-study of either art; there is a lack of sincerity, of irresistible impulse in both the poet and the, composer.

The poet is a creator, not an iconoclast, and never will tamely endeavor to say in prose what can only be expressed in song.

Genius does not need a special language; it uses newly whatever tongue it finds.