Remorse Weeps Tears Of Blood.

Friendship Is A Sheltering Tree.

Not The Poem Which We Have Read , But That To Which We Return , With The Greatest Pleasure, Possesses The Genuine Power, And Claims The Name Of Essential Poetry .

Therefore All Seasons Shall Be Sweet To Thee, Whether The Summer Clothe The General Earth With Greenness, Or The Redbreast Sit And Sing Betwixt The Tufts Of Snow On The Bare Branch Of Mossy Apple Tree.

But Metre Itself Implies A Passion , I.e. A State Of Excitement, Both In The Poet's Mind, & Is Expected In That Of The Reader.

Falsehood Is Fire In Stubble; It Likewise Turns All The Light Stuff Around It Into Its Own Substance For A Moment, One Crackling Blazing Moment, And Then Dies; And All Its Converts Are Scattered In The Wind, Without Place Or Evidence Of Their Existence, As Viewless As The Wind Which Scatters Them.