O For Ten Years, That I May

My Love Is Selfish. I Cannot Breathe Without You.

Call The World If You Please "the Vale Of Soul-making." Then You Will Find Out The Use Of The World.

Heard Melodies Are Sweet, But Those Unheard Are Sweeter; Therefore, Ye Soft Pipes, Play On; Not To The Sensual Ear, But, More Endear'd, Pipe To The Spirit Ditties Of No Tone.

The Genius Of Poetry Must Work Out Its Own Salvation In A Man; It Cannot Be Matured By Law And Precept, But By Sensation And Watchfulness In Itself. That Which Is Creative Must Create Itself.

Like A Mermaid In Sea-weed, She Dreams Awake, Trembling In Her Soft And Chilly Nest.