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No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist / Wolf 's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine.
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Land and sea, weakness and decline are great separators, but death is the great divorcer for ever.
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You might curb your magnanimity, and be more of an artist, and load every rift of your subject with ore.
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There is a budding morrow in midnight.
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Poetry should be great and unobtrusive, a thing which enters into one's soul, and does not startle it or amaze it with itself, but with its subject.
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