Being All Fashioned Of The

The Love Of Learning, The Sequestered Nooks, And All The Sweet Serenity Of Books.

Look Not Mournfully Into The Past. It Comes Not Back Again.

Will Without Power Is Like Children Playing At Soldiers.

O Ye Dead Poets, Who Are Living Still Immortal In Your Verse, Though Life Be Fled, And Ye, O Living Poets, Who Are Dead Though Ye Are Living, If Neglect Can Kill, Tell Me If In The Darkest Hours Of Ill, With Drops Of Anguish Falling Fast And Red From The Sharp Crown Of Thorns Upon Your Head, Ye Were Not Glad Your Errand To Fulfill?

People Of A Lively Imagination Are Generally Curious, And Always So When A Little In Love.