Many Have Original Minds Who

Knowledge Enormous Makes A God Of Me.

I Think I Shall Be Among The English Poets After My Death.

I Had A Dove And The Sweet Dove Died; And I Have Thought It Died Of Grieving: O, What Could It Grieve For? Its Feet Were Tied, With A Silken Thread Of My Own Hands' Weaving.

Poetry Should Be Great And Unobtrusive, A Thing Which Enters Into One's Soul, And Does Not Startle It Or Amaze It With Itself, But With Its Subject.

Many Have Original Minds Who Do Not Think It - They Are Led Away By Custom!