There is a budding morrow in midnight.
Love is my religion - I could die for it.
The genius of poetry must work out its own salvation in a man; it cannot be matured by law and precept, but by sensation and watchfulness in itself. That which is creative must create itself.
Many have original minds who do not think it - they are led away by custom!
All clean and comfortable I sit down to write.
And when thou art weary I'll find thee a bed, Of mosses and flowers to pillow thy head.