A mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of Thought, alone.

Poetry is most just to its divine origin, when it administers the comforts and breathes the thoughts of religion.

The Eagle, he was lord above

Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.

Wrongs unredressed, or insults unavenged.

Me this uncharted freedom tires; I feel the weight of chance desires, My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same.

Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good: Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow.