Every True Genius Is Bound

I Feel An Army In My Fist.

Spring Flies, And With It All The Train It Leads; And Flowers, In Fading, Leave Us But Their Seeds.

Toil Of Science Swells The Wealth Of Art.

There Is A Nobility In The World Of Manners.

The Painter Is, As To The Execution Of His Work, A Mechanic; But As To His Conception And Spirit And Design He Is Hardly Below Even The Poet.