We are free to yield to truth.
The changing year's successive plan Proclaims mortality to man.
Believe it, future generations.
Where there are many beauties in a poem I shall not cavil at a few faults proceeding either from negligence or from the imperfection of our nature.
Choose a subject equal to your abilities; think carefully what your shoulders may refuse, and what they are capable of bearing.
And take back ill-polished stanzas to the anvil.