The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.

Habit rules the unreflecting herd.

And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.

There is creation in the eye.

Wisdom married to immortal verse.

Not Chaos, not the darkest pit of lowest Erebus, nor aught of blinder vacancy, scooped out by help of dreams - can breed such fear and awe as fall upon us often when we look into our Minds, into the Mind of Man.

Be mild, and cleave to gentle things, thy glory and thy happiness be there.