And In Today Already Walks

Truths ... Are Too Often Considered As So True, That They Lose All The Power Of Truth, And Lie Bed-ridden In The Dormitory Of The Soul, Side By Side With The Most Despised And Exploded Errors.

An Undevout Poet Is An Impossibility.

Bells, The Poor Man's Only Music.

A Nation To Be Great Ought To Be Compressed In Its Increment By Nations More Civilized Than Itself.

The Sun's Rim Dips; The Stars Rush Out: At One Stride Comes The Dark; With Far-heard Whisper O'er The Sea, Off Shot The Spectre-bark.