Are not the mountains, waves, and skies as much a part of me, as I of them?
There is, in fact, no law or government at all; and it is wonderful how well things go on without them.
Oh, nature's noblest gift, my grey goose quill, Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will, Torn from the parent bird to form a pen, That mighty instrument of little men.
The poetry of speech.
Out of chaos God made a world, and out of high passions comes a people.
Whatsoever thy birth, Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth.