Shed No Tear - O,

My Imagination Is A Monastery And I Am Its Monk.

A Little Noiseless Noise Among The Leaves, Born Of The Very Sigh That Silence Heaves.

... Who Alive Can Say 'thou Art No Poet - Mayst Not Tell Thy Dreams'? Since Every Man Whose Soul Is Not A Clod Hath Visions, And Would Speak, If He Had Loved, And Been Well Nurtured In His Mother Tongue.

I Am Certain I Have Not A Right Feeling Towards Women -- At This Moment I Am Striving To Be Just To Them, But I Cannot. Is It Because They Fall So Far Beneath My Boyish Imagination? When I Was A Schoolboy I Thought A Fair Woman A Pure Goddess; My Mind Was A Soft Nest In Which Some One Of Them Slept, Though She Knew It Not.

Sweet Are The Pleasures That To Verse Belong, And Doubly Sweet A Brotherhood In Song.