Power, like a desolating pestilence, Pollutes whate'er it touches; and obedience, Bane of all genius, virtue, freedom, truth, Makes slaves of men, and of the human frame A mechanized automaton.

Duty and dereliction guide thee back to solitude.

February... Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth, It kissed the forehead of the Earth, And smiled upon the silent sea, And bade the frozen streams be free, And waked to music all their fountains, And breathed upon the frozen mountains.

Poet's food is love and fame.

All high poetry is infinite; it is as the first acorn, which contained all oaks potentially.

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

Soul meets soul on lovers' lips.