Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge; it is the impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science
And I am happy when I sing.
Like an army defeated the snow hath retreated.
The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
Bright gem instinct with music, vocal spark.
Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.