Still bent to make some port he knows not where, still standing for some false impossible shore.

The sea is calm tonight. The tide is full, the moon lies fair Upon the straits;- on the French coast the light Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand, glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.

Religion is ethics heightened, enkindled, lit up by feeling

The future of poetry is immense, because in poetry, where it is worthy of its high destinies, our race, as time goes on, will find an ever surer and surer stay ... More and more mankind will discover that we have to turn to poetry to interpret life for us, to console us, to sustain us.

Spare me the whispering, crowded room, the friends who come and gape and go, the ceremonious air of gloom - all, which makes death a hideous show.

Truth sits upon the lips of dying men.

And each day brings it's pretty dust, Our soon-choked souls to fll And we forget because we must, And not because we will.