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

Do your heart and head keep pace? When does hoary Love expire, When do frosts put out the fire? Can its embers burn below All that chill December snow?

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.

Progress comes by experiment, and this from ennui that leads to voyages, wars, revolutions, and plainly to change in the arts of expression; that cries out to the imagination, and is the nurse of the invention whereof we term necessity the mother.

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

Fashion is a potency in art, making it hard to judge between the temporary and the lasting.

Poetry is an art, and chief of the fine art; the easiest to dabble in, the hardest in which to reach true excellence.