Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind! Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art, For there thy habitation is the heart-- The heart which love of thee alone can bind; And when thy sons to fetters are consign'd-- To fetters and damp vault's dayless gloom, Their country conquers with their martyrdom.

And wrinkles, the damned democrats, won't flatter.

Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven!

I only go out to get me a fresh appetite for being alone.

For a man to become a poet (witness Petrarch and Dante), he must be in love, or miserable.

In solitude, when we are least alone.

'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark our coming, and look brighter when we come.