Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.

Truth takes no account of centuries.

poetry is the breath and finer spirit of knowledge

I have said that poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity: the emotion is contemplated till, by a species of reaction, the tranquillity gradually disappears, and an emotion, kindred to that which was before the subject of contemplation, is gradually produced, and does itself actually exist in the mind.

Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.

Death is the quiet haven of us all.

The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.