Earth proudly wears the Parthenon As the best gem upon her zone.

Sleep is not, death is not; Who seem to die Live. House you were born in, Friends of your spring-time, old man and young maid, Day's toil and it's guerdon, They are all vanishing, Fleeing to fables, Cannot be moored

We are like travellers using the cinders of a volcano to roast their eggs. Whilst we see that it always stands ready to clothe what we would say, we cannot avoid the question whether the characters are not significant of themselves.

We are immersed in beauty, but our eyes have no clear vision.

The narrow sectarian cannot read astronomy with impunity. The creeds of his church shrivel like dried leaves at the door of the observatory.

Every man contemplates an angel in his future self.

Give a boy address and accomplishments and you give him the mastery of palaces and fortunes where he goes.