A Narrow Mind Begets Obstinacy;

Imagination In A Poet Is A Faculty So Wild And Lawless That, Like A High Ranging Spaniel, It Must Have Clogs Tied To It, Lest It Outrun The Judgment. The Great Easiness Of Blank Verse Renders The Poet Too Luxuriant. He Is Tempted To Say Many Things Which Might Better Be Omitted, Or, At Least Shut Up In Fewer Words.

When Bounteous Autumn Rears Her Head, He Joys To Pull The Ripened Pear.

Farewell, Too Little, And Too Lately Known, Whom I Began To Think And Call My Own.

Honor Is But An Empty Bubble.

Who Climbs The Grammar-tree, Distinctly Knows Where Noun, And Verb, And Participle Grows.