Sleep, Sleep, Beauty Bright,dreaming O'er

He Who Desires, But Acts Not, Breeds Pestilence.

Innate Ideas Are In Every Man, Born With Him; They Are Truly Himself. The Man Who Says That We Have No Innate Ideas Must Be A Fool And Knave, Having No Conscience Or Innate Science.

Why A Tender Curb Upon The Youthful Burning Boy? Why A Little Curtain Of Flesh On The Bed Of Our Desire?

One Power Alone Makes A Poet: Imagination. The Divine Vision.

Excessive Sorrow Laughs. Excessive Joy Weeps.