As to the pure mind all things are pure, so to the poetic mind all things are poetical.

An enlightened mind is not hoodwinked; it is not shut up in a gloomy prison till it thinks the walls of its dungeon the limits of the universe, and the reach of its own chain the outer verge of intelligence.

Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe.

One half the world must sweat and groan that the other half may dream.

Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said; For ye are living poems, And all the rest are dead.

The morrow was a bright September morn; The earth was beautiful as if newborn; There was nameless splendor everywhere, That wild exhilaration in the air, Which makes the passers in the city street Congratulate each other as they meet.

Life like an empty dream flits by.