There is a harmony In autumn, and a luster in its sky...

...Ere midnight’s frown and morning’s smile, ere thou and peace may meet.

Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar.

Oh that simplicity and innocence its own unvalued work so seldom knows!

But I am chained to Time, and cannot thence depart!

It is only by softening and disguising dead flesh by culinary preparation that it is rendered susceptible of mastication or digestion, and that the sight of its bloody juices and raw horror does not excite intolerable loathing and disgust.

In the infancy of society every author is necessarily a poet