When I have fears that I may ceace to be, Before my pen has gleaned my teaming brain".

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.

Wherein lies happiness? In that which becks Our ready minds to fellowship divine, A fellowship with essence; till we shine, Full alchemiz’d, and free of space. Behold The clear religion of heaven!

Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by? ---"On death

O Solitude! If I must with thee dwell, Let it not be among the jumbled heap of murky buildings

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun.

... Who alive can say 'Thou art no Poet - mayst not tell thy dreams'? Since every man whose soul is not a clod Hath visions, and would speak, if he had loved, And been well nurtured in his mother tongue.