Change Doth Unknit The Tranquil

The Same Heart Beats In Every Human Breast.

Ah, Love, Let Us Be True To One Another! For The World, Which Seems To Lie Before Us Like A Land Of Dreams, So Various, So Beautiful, So New, Hath Really Neither Joy, Nor Love, Nor Light, Nor Certitude, Nor Peace, Nor Help For Pain; And We Are Here As On A Darkling Plain Swept With Confused Alarms Of Struggle And Flight, Where Ignorant Armies Clash By Night.

The Highest Reach Of Science Is, One May Say, An Inventive Power, A Faculty Of Divination, Akin To The Highest Power Exercised In Poetry; Therefore, A Nation Whose Spirit Is Characterised By Energy May Well Be Eminent In Science; And We Have Newton. Shakspeare [sic] And Newton: In The Intellectual Sphere There Can Be No Higher Names. And What That Energy, Which Is The Life Of Genius, Above Everything Demands And Insists Upon, Is Freedom; Entire Independence Of All Authority, Prescription And Routine, The Fullest Room To Expand As It Will.

For Poetry The Idea Is Everything; The Rest Is A World Of Illusion.

Weary Of Myself, And Sick Of Asking What I Am, And What I Ought To Be, At This Vessel's Prow I Stand, Which Bears Me Forwards, Forwards, O'er The Starlit Sea.