Poetry Is Man's Rebellion Against

I Take It That I Must Be The Eternal Playfellow Of Time. For Piety And Common-sense And Death Are Rightfully Time's Toys; And It Is With These Three That I Divert Myself.

There Are Many Of Our So-called Captains On Industry Who, If The Truth Were Told, And A Shorter And Uglier Word Were Not Unpermissible, Are Little Better Than Malefactors Of Great Wealth.

As It Is, Plain Reasoning Assures Me I Am Not Indispensable To The Universe: But With This Reasoning, Somehow, Does Not Travel My Belief.

Sad Hours And Glad Hours, And All Hours, Pass Over; One Thing Unshaken Stays: Life, That Hath Death For Spouse, Hath Chance For Lover; Whereby Decays, Each Thing Save One Thing: Mid This Strife Diurnal, Of Hourly Change Begot, Love That Is God-born, Bides As God Eternal, And Changes Not; Nor Means A Tinseled Dream Pursuing Lovers, Find Altered By-and-bye, When, With Possession, Time Anon Discovers, Trapped Dreams Must Die, - For He That Visions God, Of Mankind Gathers, One Manlike Trait Alone, And Reverently Imputes To Him A Father's Love For His Son.

Whatever Pretended Pessimists In Search Of Notoriety May Say, Most People Are Naturally Kind, At Heart.