Songs Consecrate To Truth And

All High Poetry Is Infinite; It Is As The First Acorn, Which Contained All Oaks Potentially.

Commerce Has Set The Mark Of Selfishness, The Signet Of Its All-enslaving Power, Upon A Shining Ore, And Called It Gold: Before Whose Image Bow The Vulgar Great, The Vainly Rich, The Miserable Proud, The Mob Of Peasants, Nobles, Priests, And Kings, And With Blind Feelings Reverence The Power That Grinds Them To The Dust Of Misery.

Reason Respects The Differences, And Imagination The Similitudes Of Things.

Are We Not Formed, As Notes Of Music Are, For One Another, Though Dissimilar?

Like A Glowworm Golden, In A Dell Of Dew, Scattering Unbeholden Its Aerial Blue Among The Flowers And Grass Which Screen It From The View.