But who shall parcel out His intellect by geometric rules, Split like a province into round and square?
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.
For all things are less dreadful than they seem.
Strongest minds are often those whom the noisy world hears least.
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge - it is as immortal as the heart of man.