And mighty poets in their misery dead.
Write to me frequently & the longest letters possible; never mind whether you have facts or no to communicate; fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
Tis said, fantastic ocean doth enfold The likeness of whate'er on land is seen.
What is pride? A rocket that emulates the stars.
How is it that you live, and what is it you do?
The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion; the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, An appetite; a feeling and a love that had no need of a remoter charm by thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.