We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.

The best of what we do and are, Just God, forgive!

It may be safely affirmed that there neither is, nor can be, any essential difference between the language of prose and metrical composition.... They both speak by and to the same organs; the bodies in which both of them are clothed may be said to be of the same substance, their affections are kindred, and almost identical, not necessarily differing even in degree; Poetry sheds no tears "such as Angels weep," but natural and human tears; she can boast of no celestial ichor that distinguishes her vital juices from those of prose; the same human blood circulates through the veins of them both.

A man he seems of cheerful yesterdays And confident tomorrows.

"One impulse from a vernal wood

The mind that is wise mourns less for what age takes away; than what it leaves behind.

The soft blue sky did never melt Into his heart; he never felt The witchery of the soft blue sky!