Of Love, That Fairest Joys

Soft Closer Of Our Eyes! Low Murmur Of Tender Lullabies!

O Latest Born And Loveliest Vision Far Of All Olympus' Faded Hierarchy.

How Beautiful, If Sorrow Had Not Made Sorrow More Beautiful Than Beauty's Self.

We Hate Poetry That Has A Palpable Design Upon Us - And If We Do Not Agree, Seems To Put Its Hand In Its Breeches Pocket. Poetry Should Be Great & Unobtrusive, A Thing Which Enters Into One's Soul, And Does Not Startle It Or Amaze It With Itself But With Its Subject. - How Beautiful Are The Retired Flowers! How Would They Lose Their Beauty Were They To Throng Into The Highway Crying Out, "admire Me I Am A Violet! Dote Upon Me I Am A Primrose!"

Nothing Ever Becomes Real Till It Is Experienced.