Familiar acts are beautiful through love.

The jealous keys of truth's eternal doors.

Of Planets, struggling fierce towards heaven's free wilderness.

Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration; the mirrors of the gigantic shadows which futurity casts upon the present.

Reviewers, with some rare exceptions, are a most stupid and malignant race. As a bankrupt thief turns thief-taker in despair, so an unsuccessful author turns critic.

One word is too often profaned For me to profane it, One feeling too falsely disdained For thee to disdain it.

I wish no living thing to suffer pain.