Poetry, in a general sense, may be defined to be 'the expression of the imagination': and poetry is connate with the origin of man.

The great secret of morals is Love; or a going out of our own nature, and an identification of ourselves with the beautiful which exists in thought, action, or person, not our own.

The soul's joy lies in doing.

Far clouds of feathery gold, Shaded with deepest purple, gleam Like islands on a dark blue sea.

Strange thoughts beget strange deeds.

Those who love not their fellow-beings live unfruitful lives, and prepare for their old age a miserable grave.

Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, Lull'd by the coil of his crystalline streams Beside a pumice isle in Baiæ's bay, And saw in sleep old palaces and towers Quivering within the wave's intenser day, All overgrown with azure moss and flowers So sweet, the sense faints picturing them.