A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light
Poetry has never brought me in enough money to buy shoestrings.
The gods approve The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul.
A light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove.
Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry; and these we adore; Plain living and high thinking are no more.
Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher.