Stones Have Been Known To

A Little Water Clears Us Of This Deed.

There Are Many Events In The Womb Of Time Which Will Be Delivered.

I Would That I Were Low Laid In My Grave. I Am Not Worth This Coil That's Made For Me.

Men Must Endure Their Going Hence, Even As Their Coming Hither. Ripeness Is All.

The Poet's Eye, In A Fine Frenzy Rolling, Doth Glance From Heaven To Earth, From Earth To Heaven; And As Imagination Bodies Forth The Forms Of Things Unknown, The Poet's Pen Turns Them To Shape, And Gives To Airy Nothing A Local Habitation And A Name; Such Tricks Hath Strong Imagination.