Nature, With Equal Mind, Sees

Genius Is Mainly An Affair Of Energy.

Nor Bring, To See Me Cease To Live, Some Doctor Full Of Phrase And Fame, To Shake His Sapient Head, And Give The Ill He Cannot Cure A Name.

Time May Restore Us In His Course Goethe's Sage Mind And Byron's Force: But Where Will Europe's Latter Hour Again Find Wordsworth's Healing Power?

The Bloom Is Gone, And With The Bloom Go I.

On The Breast Of That Huge Mississippi Of Falsehood Called History, A Foam-bell More Or Less Is No Consequence.