Tall oaks branch charmed by the earnest stars Dream and so dream all night without a stir.
O magic sleep! O comfortable bird, That broodest o'er the troubled sea of the mind Till it is hush'd and smooth!
Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?
Literary men are . . . a perpetual priesthood.
The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
When I have fears that I may ceace to be, Before my pen has gleaned my teaming brain".