The Man who never in his Mind & Thoughts travel'd to Heaven Is No Artist.
Down the winding cavern we groped our tedious way, till a void boundless as the nether sky appeared beneath us, and we held by the roots of trees and hung over this immensity; but I said: if you please we will commit ourselves to this void and see whether providence is here also.
When nations grow old the Arts grow cold And commerce settles on every tree
You become what you behold.
The child's toys and the old man's reasons are the fruits of two seasons.
To create a little flower is the labour of ages.