Poetry fettered fetters the human race.

I have no name: I am but two days old. What shall I call thee? I happy am, Joy is my name. Sweet joy befall thee!

thus men forgot that all deities reside in the human breast.

The most sublime act is to set another before you.

The pure soul shall mount on native wings, . . . and cut a path into the heaven of glory.

How sweet I roamed from field to field, And tasted all the summer's pride, Till I the prince of love beheld, Who in the sunny beams did glide!

Let the men do their duty & the women will be such wonders; the female life lives from the light of the male: see a man's female dependants, you know the man.