No work begun shall ever pause for death.
Heart, fear nothing, for, heart, thou shalt find her- Next time, herself!-not the trouble behind her
God is the perfect poet.
Was there nought better than to enjoy? No feat which, done, would make time break, And let us pent-up creatures through Into eternity, our due? No forcing earth teach heaven's employ?
I hold that a man should strive to the uttermost for his life's set prize.
Stand still, true poet that you are! I know you; let me try and draw you. Some night you'll fail us: when afar You rise, remember one man saw you, Knew you, and named a star!