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

'T is hers to pluck the amaranthine flower Of faith, and round the sufferer's temples bind Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower, And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.

And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love.

A great poet ought to a certain degree to rectify men's feelings... to render their feelings more sane, pure and permanent, in short, more consonant to Nature.

From the body of one guilty deed a thousand ghostly fears and haunting thoughts proceed.

In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting; The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar.