But since he had The genius to be loved, why let him have The justice to be honoured in his grave.

You were made perfectly to be loved - and surely I have loved you, in the idea of you, my whole life long.

And Chaucer, with his infantine Familiar clasp of things divine.

I heard an angel speak last night/And he said, "Write!"

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

God Himself is the best Poet, And the Real is His song.

Earth's crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God: But only he who sees takes off his shoes.