But how can he expect that others should Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?

But thou that didst appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation.

Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none; / Look up a second time, and, one by one, / You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, / And wonder how they could elude the sight!

Truth takes no account of centuries.

All that we behold is full of blessings.

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

What is a Poet? He is a man speaking to men: a man, it is true, endued with more lively sensibility, more enthusiasm and tenderness, who has a greater knowledge of human nature, and a more comprehensive soul, than are supposed to be common among mankind; a man pleased with his own passions and volitions, and who rejoices more than other men in the spirit of life that is in him; delighting to contemplate similar volitions and passions as manifested in the goings-on of the universe, and habitually impelled to create them where he does not find them.