Who combats with a brother, wounds himself.
The spirit walks of every day deceased.
There is something about poetry beyond prose logic, there is mystery in it, not to be explained but admired.
They build too low who build beneath the skies.
Accept a miracle, instead of wit See two dull lines, with Stanhope's pencil writ.
Heaven's Sovereign saves all beings but himselfThat hideous sight,-a naked human heart.