Chameleons feed on light and air: Poets food is love and fame.

I am the daughter of Earth and Water, And the nursling of the Sky; I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; I change, but I cannot die.

Many a green isle needs must be In the deep wide sea of Misery, Or the mariner, worn and wan, Never thus could voyage on.

In the infancy of society every author is necessarily a poet

Dust to the dust! but the pure spirit shall flow Back to the burning fountain whence it came, A portion of the Eternal.

Ah, woe is me! Winter is come and gone. But grief returns with the revolving year.

Men must reap the things they sow, Force from force must ever flow.