Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar.
His fine wit Makes such a wound, the knife is lost in it.
Of Planets, struggling fierce towards heaven's free wilderness.
Truth has always been found to promote the best interests of mankind.
That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, Whom mortals call the moon.
There is a harmony In autumn, and a luster in its sky...