Blessings be with them, and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares!- The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays.

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

And I am happy when I sing.

There is creation in the eye.

Father! - to God himself we cannot give a holier name.

The unconquerable pang of despised love.

And now I see with eye serene, The very pulse of the machine. A being breathing thoughtful breaths, A traveler between life and death.