And many a poor man that has roved Loved and thought himself beloved From a glad kindness cannot take his eyes.

Accursed who brings to light of day the writings I have cast away.

The labor of the alchemists, who were called artist in their day, is a befitting comparison for a deliberate change of style.

I think you can leave the arts, superior or inferior, to the conscience of mankind.

There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings.

Players and painted stage took all my love, And not those things that they were emblems of.

Teaching is not filling up a pail, it is lighting a fire.