The man, most man, works best for men: and, if most man indeed, he gets his manhood plainest from his soul.

Let us be content to work To do the things we can, and not presume To fret because it's little.

If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange And be all to me?

The critics could never mortify me out of heart - because I love poetry for its own sake, - and, tho' with no stoicism and some ambition, care more for my poems than for my poetic reputation.

I love thee to the level of everyday's most quiet need, by sun and candle light...I love thee with the breath,smiles,t ears,of all my life.

Men of science, osteologists And surgeons, beat some poets, in respect For nature,-count nought common or unclean, Spend raptures upon perfect specimens Of indurated veins, distorted joints, Or beautiful new cases of curved spine; While we, we are shocked at nature's falling off, We dare to shrink back from her warts and blains.

Life, struck sharp on death, Makes awful lightning.