Still Ending, And Beginning Still.

The Man To Solitude Accustom'd Long, Perceives In Everything That Lives A Tongue; Not Animals Alone, But Shrubs And Trees Have Speech For Him, And Understood With Ease, After Long Drought When Rains Abundant Fall, He Hears The Herbs And Flowers Rejoicing All.

I Have A Kitten,the Drollest Of All Creatures That Ever Wore A Cat's Skin.

They Best Can Judge A Poet's Worth, Who Oft Themselves Have Known The Pangs Of A Poetic Birth By Labours Of Their Own.

God Moves In A Mysterious Way, His Wonders To Perform. He Plants His Footsteps In The Sea, And Rides Upon The Storm.

There Is A Pleasure In Poetic Pains / Which Only Poets Know.