AMPLE make this bed. Make this bed with awe; In it wait till judgment break Excellent and fair. Be its mattress straight, Be its pillow round; Let no sunrise’ yellow noise Interrupt this ground.

The poet lights the light and fades away. But the light goes on and on.

Truth - is as old as God-.

To see the Summer Sky Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie— True Poems flee—

The Soul selects her own Society.

I hope your rambles have been sweet, and your reveries spacious

A little Madness in the Spring Is wholesome even for the King.