When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty," - that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

The excellence of every Art is its intensity.

The feel of not to feel it, When there is none to heal it Nor numbed sense to steel it.

Feeling well that breathed words Would all be lost, unheard, and vain as swords Against the enchased crocodile, or leaps Of grasshoppers against the sun.

The poetry of the earth is never dead.

Love is my religion - I could die for it.

I find I cannot exist without Poetry