On The Breast Of That

Most Men In A Brazen Prison Live, Where, In The Sun's Hot Eye, With Heads Bent O'er Their Toil, They Languidly Their Lives To Some Unmeaning Taskwork Give, Dreaming Of Nought Beyond Their Prison-wall.

For What Wears Out The Life Of Mortal Men? 'tis That From Change To Change Their Being Rolls; Tis That Repeated Shocks, Again, Again, Exhaust The Energy Of Strongest Souls And Numb The Elastic Powers.

Life Is Not Having And Getting, But Being And Becoming

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

Good Poetry Does Undoubtedly Tend To Form The Soul And Character; It Tends To Beget A Love Of Beauty And Of Truth In Alliance Together, It Suggests, However Indirectly, High And Noble Principles Of Action, And It Inspires The Emotion So Helpful In Making Principles Operative.